Apocalypse
by Stomiidae
Summary: Jimmy could point out every gritty, ugly truth and it wouldn't matter. To Edgar the world was as beautiful as it's destruction was inevitable.
1. Photographs and Signs

Apocalypse

Part 1

_Jimmy dreamed he was walking down that highway, his thumb out to hitch and knife tucked just out of sight. The air was hot on his skin but freezing cold with every breath drawn ragged through his mouth. Not a fleck of snow in sight but he knew it was winter, every car that passed him had the windows up and left a trail of white exhaust that doused him in more heat._

_He kept walking, his shoes scraping loose gravel, legs weak cause he'd been having this dream for days. No one ever fucking stopped but he held his arm out and kept going. He knew what he'd do if they did, a ride would only take him so far but a car could outlast the endless highway._

_A rusted red Sundance passed and the person inside only spared him a glance as if the idea of stopping for him hardly crossed their mind. Lucky in their thoughtlessness the whole lot of them._

[]

"Let the Glory of His word reach into your wicked hearts and cleanse the sin from your soul."

The prophet stood at the center of a scattered congregation in the parking lot of the small shopping center. His arms reached up as if to pull the power of angels as he called out to the disinterested passers-by.

For hours he'd been out there. The unrelenting heat of summer scorched the wrinkled skin of his neck and arms red so each grand gesture of faith and devotion was a flag against the white of his hat and garb. His flock, dressed also in simple white shirts and kakis, wandered about him to pass on the books of their faith to anyone who would have one.

Their smiles were gentle, expressions calm. They took care to offer the boon of salvation to anyone they passed as they knew there was no shortage of lost souls and even the richest in spoils could be missing God's grace. Even devoted children of their church helped, sleepy though they were from the sickly sweet sun above.

Aaron thought he might drift off for a bit, the nine-year-old still not hardened to the difficulties of their demonstrations the way his older siblings were.

"How you holding up?" His uncle, Nathaniel, kneeled down to his eyelevel and handed him a tyke-sized bottle of juice. The books he'd cradled in his arms were carefully taken from him as he guzzled it down. His head felt hot and his skin tight and uncomfortable but the drink helped him feel a little bit more awake. A cool hand brushed his head and led him away from the car. He was taken over to his eldest brother.

"Could you keep an eye on him? Mayra has Jeremiah and Erica's little girl. Aaron here needs a rest. I don't want him by the van where it's hot."

Aaron thought it was hot by his brother too but didn't protest when he was lifted to settle against Edgar's side, an ice cold bottle of water against his forehead. He drifted off momentarily, eyes heavy and head carefully pillowed against the uncomfortable warmth of his shoulder. Edgar swayed, body turning in half circle to offer what shade it could.

"Oh keep my soul and deliver me, let me not be ashamed for I put my trust in thee-" the steady hum of his voice against the crown of the 9-year-old's head made it impossible for him to stay awake.

Sleep passed in the blink of an eye, one moment he was listening to the smooth murmur of their mother's favorite Psalm and the next he was woken by the angry and boisterous sound of his father's voice trying to drown out the jeering calls of a crowd.

Their days began in the early hours of the morning, between 4 and 6 depending on if all of them were needed for the sermon held in the community center downtown. His family's work was important, they reached out to people like this, the lost and conflicted. Every once in a while someone would find the strength, the conviction of faith to reach back. Bringing those that they could into the safety of their faith made every angry counter protest worth it.

Edgar glanced away from loud angry calls of the crowd and hefted Aaron's sleepy weight higher on his waist. His younger brother stirred grumpily at the noise, his fingers burrowing in Edgar's shirt as the jeering finally reached him. They stood for a moment both unsure of how to participate in the back and forth or if they even should.

"Who the hell are you to judge?!" One onlooker called out from somewhere deep in the belly of the crowd.

"Judgment is upon us! It is not I who condemns you." His father's voice boomed and cut swiftly through the reactionary cat calls of the surprisingly large crowd. "Did Jesus not reach out to the children of his Father to bring them from their heathen ways? Did Jesus not die on the cross for your sins? And yet despite his sacrifice parents still allow their children to wallow in the muck of this society, to be sodomized by the preachers of false religions—"

"That's disgusting!" One irate mother shouted as she ushered her children away from the rabble. Spurred by the generous response the leader pointed to the small golden crucifix glittering gently around her neck.

"Make as many excuses as you like, my good lady, but the desperate cries of those poor, forsaken children don't lie!" His arms swept over the crowd, over their cries of _bigot_ and _liar_. "Our time has come, the Rapture is nigh. The salvation of our children is upon us and we must ask ourselves if we will be there with them to join the Lord in Paradise." His arms came down in supplication, begging the angry and fearful crowd to join him.

There were a surprising number of people joining the group, young enough to be from the nearby middle and high school. As the argument heated behind him he noticed that a steady stream of teenagers only stayed to watch for a few minutes before wandering off, their path cutting a small sliver of walking space between the crowd and the street.

Edgar watched them curiously, noting they were generally disinterested in the conflict. He looked down at the once again dozing child on his hip and thought maybe it was a good chance to hand out more of the bibles weighing down his messenger bag and give Aaron a break from all of the boisterous yelling.

Instinct drove him to look for any sign of his other two siblings. He caught sight of Mayra scolding a sopping wet Jeremiah, who was holding an empty water bottle and smiling like a fiend so no need to guess what happened there. He only managed to briefly hold her attention to assure her he'd be nearby before she got pulled into the argument between their father and the ravenous crowd of naysayers. His expression shifted, a benign and unassuming smile settling as he juggled his load, his weight shifting to keep hold of his brother and reach down to pull a few books from his bag to hand out.

Tucked into the cover of each of the small white bible was a skinny 3-fold pamphlet with information on their congregation, where they worshiped and who to contact when interested in participating in morning and evening mass. Every time he handed out a book he felt like they were also reaching out in a small way, giving the casual passerby the option to come to God in their own time.

It seemed all the more futile when he thought about it in his own head, almost as bad as when the older members of their congregation shouted about the final judgment. Looking at the blasé faces of the teens parading by on their way from school, unaware of just how short this life would be, of how awful the end would be just made a tiny part of him feel foolish. He stood at the edge of a crowd, his brother on one hip and a bag full of salvation on the other content for one horrible moment to let them pass and vanish into the collective.

Aaron's tired grumbling snapped him out of his brief internal monologue of despair. With smile Edgar let the sight of the cranky child at his side coax the optimism out in him. Any person reached between now and then was worth the sickening knowledge that everyone else had chosen to fall.

[]

Things were getting heated, no fucking pun intended.

He could easily see from where he was situated, straddling the short, brick, perimeter wall, that shit was probably going to go down. There was a huge mob of people corralling the nervous group of Christian bible thumpers.

"Hey Fucktard!" He started as David's shiny bald head dropped into his line of sight. He winked his eye smugly at Jimmy as he jumped back to sit beside him. "Anyone been lynched yet?"

David was the guy he'd been sitting next in class for the last 3 years.

The slow crawl of people heading towards the small alcove of shops across the street was an interesting sight indeed. The few cars stuck on either side of the blockage honked noisily, unable to go back or move forward. All of the students in line snuck looks at the crowd, giddy with glee at the drama of the screaming street preacher and the people bravely stepping up to scream back.

Jimmy admitted to himself that he was getting little caught up in the whole thing too. To have the first day of class end with a _hurrah Jesus hurrah_ across the street. Fucking priceless.

"I wanna closer look." He mumbled to David absently. The yelling was muffled from where they were, indistinct ramblings that might have sounded like "Salvation!" and "Hell!" but for the most part was drowned out by the horde of upset citizens buzzing threateningly around them.

Jimmy, and the asshole he might have considered a friend at one point, hopped off the wall and crossed the street, stomping the school flowerbeds as they went. They slipped between honking cars, shoved through the line of kids trying to avoid the messy confrontation and found a great spot to watch the street preacher theatrically illustrate the apocalypse.

He looked over at David and eyed the little wrinkle of irritation between his eyebrows with a sardonic smile.

"They pissing you off too?" he asked, elbowing the other teen. David yelped and bitchily shoved away the sharp joint, Jimmy laughed at him.

"We're Roman Catholic, dude. This shit's just fucking sad." But that just made Jimmy laugh harder.

Standing at the edge of a brewing riot under a blazing summer sun could only be fun for so long though. The two teens waited as long as their curiosity outweighed their discomfort before David decided whatever trouble that was bound to happen wasn't happening fast enough for him to endure more of the heat. Lazily they started pushing back towards the sidewalk, disappointed at the lack of bloodshed but ready to get out of the stifling air of the crowd when an irrational spark of depravity overcame Jimmy. Without thinking his foot shot out to trip up David.

Usually such instinctive acts of harassment were shrugged off as jokes, thoughtless gestures on behalf of Jimmy's unwillingness to think before acting. David should have stumbled a bit and then punched his classmate's shoulder, or called him an asshole and secretly planned to fuck up the handle of Jimmy's locker for revenge because it was hardly painful.

This time, however, he face-planted into an unlucky member of the crowd. His forehead, after colliding with the bony side of a shoulder, ached as he cursed violently at Jimmy for being so fucking immature. His arm flung out blindly to grab the hot, black fabric of the asshole's shirt when the muffled wail of a frightened child made them both freeze.

David's fistful of Jimmy went slack. They both stared uncertainly at the man and the cowering kid standing just off to the right of him, hugging his waist. Beady blue eyes stared warily at them from beside his hip. The guy leaned down indulgently and spoke quietly to the boy clutching the fabric of his shirt.

"Shhhhhh, it's okay. He wasn't yelling at you."When he stood again Jimmy noticed that the weirdly bland expression of his face didn't look irritated at either of them for the accident or subsequent bad-language, in front of his kid no less. In fact it shifted slightly when he glanced from Jimmy to David respectively. "Are you okay? Got your head pretty hard there." Something vaguely resembling a smile turned up the corners of his mouth. At least he wasn't pissed. Jimmy would have had it been his shoulder David's big ass head had smashed into.

"Fucking fine." Some people nearby were staring, if not at the kid then at the big ugly red spot on the shiny bald head of the teen stomping out of the crowd and down the street. Jimmy watched him go with no remorse. It wasn't like he'd done it on purpose, the shithead knew that.

"Here, I hope your friend is okay. God bless."

A small white book was stealthily placed into his hands and within seconds the guy and the kid were gone, shuffled forward by the crowd following the fundies as they made their escape to several vans parked at the far end of the lot. He watched them drive off as he meandered down the street in the vague direction of home, David long gone in the sweltering late summer heat.

He didn't even bother to question how the book made it into his backpack instead of the trash when he walked through the door of his apartment, instead passing out on the cool sheets of his bed with the crinkly sound of his building's air conditioner on overdrive in the vents above him.

The book managed to escape his immediate notice for almost half a year, school and his respective trade holding the bulk of his attention most days. Any moment of peace was spent dozing in the artificial warmth of his room where he could avoid the eviction threats of his landlady or just sleep for a solid 18 hours.

Sleeping to escape the cold was nice, Jimmy preferred to laze around but nothing recharged him like a weekend knocked out and alone in his apartment. It was after just such a weekend he noticed the fucking book and something else.

It was Sunday, late afternoon. His smelly landlady was banging on the door asking for her money and he was trying to sort out what he had, _trying _to separate bills from bottles of pills when a roll of ones and fives toppled into the depths of his bag.

"-you hear me you worthless addict? Rents due or you and your whore of a mother'll be out on your asses!"

Jimmy took a moment to savor a sweet drag of smoke from his cigarette, slowly digging through rumpled papers and debris for the wayward cash when his fingers skimmed something sharp with cold. Instinctively his hand shot back. He checked his fingers for cuts.

"I know you're in there you piece of shit. I want my money!"

It would be just like David to exact revenge by throwing loose razor blades into his bag. Jimmy had put a pinch of Valium in his sport's bottle a couple of days ago as a joke. Sure the guy'd been off his rocker for half the day and had to be picked up by his pissed off parents but seeing him stumble around the halls asking for his ball bag had been hilarious. Definitely an awesome story to tell later. At least Jimmy thought so.

His fingers seemed okay as far as he could tell.

"Open this damn door!"

He upended his bag, contents spilling across his bed and around his legs. He gathered his money and made it to the door just as Richard, his landlady's burly son raised his meaty fist to slam on the damn thing himself. They eyed all 5ft 11 inches of his skinny white frame with disgust as they opened each roll, meticulously counting out the cash. Jimmy leaned provocatively against the wall, door wedged against his hip as Richard thoughtlessly snapped the rubber bands onto his wrist, money safely stowed away in a small pouch on his mother's waist.

"Tell Rachel I'd better not find any strange men coming in and out." Jimmy grimaced at the use of his mother's given name. Like they were friends or some shit. "This ain't a hotel."

"I'm not her keeper."

"Her name's on the lease, boy. She out, you out." The older woman growled at him, long wrinkled finger pointing menacingly as she went. Richard moved beside her ever vigilant, face set in a scowl as he watched the threadbare fabric of Jimmy's tank shift. He quirked a sly grin and the guys face _purpled._

God it was funny no matter how many times he did it. Hello Mr. Sexually-Oppressed, thy name is Richard.

He closed the door, leaning back to stare at the unkempt glory of his apartment. There wasn't really enough to make a mess, there never had been. What was there was not a part of the typical family home floor plan. Two mismatched loveseats corralled an end table with a small square TV, his 'living room if you would. The 'dining room' was a shabby card-table and two folding chairs. Scattered here and there were mostly empty glasses of some amber alcohol or another. Beer cans were piled up around the counter closest to the trashcan because sometimes it was nice to stick it to the rules and just leave them there. For, ya know, decoration.

"Fucking shame it would be to get kicked out of this pocket of paradise, huh?" He snarked at the empty air. "I'll be sure to let _Rachel_ know the next time I see her." Which would probably be a while. His mother liked her boyfriend's apartment, didn't need strange men when she had whats-his-face. Not that she entertained strange men outside of the club.

Strippers were weird like that.

Jimmy had class in the morning and even though it was technically the weekend the drag of the coming week was still heavy on his shoulders. He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the pile of shit he'd dumped from his bag. A fair amount of old homework, crumpled and dirty with pencil shaving dust was scattered about. He never finished the damn assignments, just enough work was squeezed in between classes and during lunch to scrape by on a solid C+ which was good enough for him. He just needed enough to pass the year, he'd forget whatever the class taught by the following semester anyway.

Slowly he tossed out wads of incomplete work and doodle pages. Bent up and ripped paper folders were put on his bedside table to tape up later, chewed up and broken pencils tossed in his drawer and his pens shoved in his bag's front pocket. He'd picked up the forest green binder he'd been using for about three years when a small white book toppled into his lap. Bible, it was a bible with gold embossed letters and cold faux leather cover. King James Version.

A lick of cold air cut through the warmth of his room. He glanced over at the window responsible for the leak of November cold viciously leeching air from his apartment. Jamming rinky dink towels between the sill and glass couldn't keep it out.

Just outside he noticed a small parade of people from the building across the alley. They were climbing in and out of an ugly white van with boxes and boxes of shit Jimmy couldn't see in a weird, cheery little procession. He poked moodily at the chilly towels in his window as he watched.

A tall older man in a swanky, apocalyptic-style hat stepped out from the double doors, eyes darting one way then the other, and ushered the flurry of people inside. Jimmy heard and ignored the distant pounding of Richard's meaty fist on a neighbor's door while he watched the weird religious family disappear into the building he had no idea they owned.

Jimmy was pretty sure he knew who they were, he'd seen them around protesting and shit. How the fuck had he missed where their homebase was? His window was right-fucking-there!

He pulled out a shitty white T-shirt from a bag of clean laundry at the foot of his bed, he hated the damn Funny Lion logo anyway, wrapped it around the towels and plugged the window again.

Futile were his efforts. November had long since decided to leach the unnatural warmth from Jimmy's apartment bedroom. _Rachel's _room was warmer but he'd be damned if he slept in the same bed his mother had sex in.

That'd been an uncomfortable morning after, for her and her boyfriend at least. Jimmy'd just been pissed.

He didn't like losing sleep, especially when he _had_ to go to school the next morning. Damn woman told him all the time that he needed to get his diploma and then fucked up his day, if not his whole week, by screaming loud enough to have the whole apartment complex in an uproar.

Jimmy carelessly sent the little white bible tumbling into his desk, it toppled over the side and into a stack of old magazines he had underneath. After not giving a fuck about the mess he'd just made Jimmy slipped into bed, tucking himself in the nest of mismatching throw pillows and blankets, reveling in the lazy joy of knowing that in about a month he'd have the whole winter break to chill and sleep in. A whole two weeks to stay at home and not have teachers demanding he turn in course work or finish those tests they gave every week for no other reason than to sadistically watch their students squirm.

Sleep helped, it saved him from the headache he always seemed to have on Mondays when he tried to make the most of his weekends by, ya know, _staying awake _and _doing shit_. Fuck it.

If he slept now he'd wake up at 4am ready for a day of slipping uppers, downers and cigarettes for cash between classes and turning in work only slightly more than halfway finished to teachers who really only checked the first page for mistakes before moving on. Winter break was coming which of course meant nobody really gave a fuck. Midterms were a joke and second semester senior year was a blow-off semester anyway because if you didn't already have your shit figured out you were way too behind to be anything other than fucked.

He fell asleep around 4:30 and woke up just before 3 with five and a half hours to kill before school.

[]

The nudge against his hip was ignored, with a smile of course. Pissing David off was a great start to his day. Until that same foot hooked his bag and started dragging it off.

"You got my smokes, bitch?"

Jimmy kicked at his ankle to free his bag and graciously reached inside to pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

"Course I do." Jimmy laughed and teased the box away when David tried to grab them. The bald teen growled at him. "Look at you, man. Getting all worked up over your addiction," David stomped up and snatched them right from his hand, "what would your parents think?"

He lit up and took a long slow drag before answering.

"Been craving these all weekend. Drove me nuts not being able to leave the house, you're lucky I'm gonna accept these things as payment for that shit you pulled with my water bottle." He dropped to the ground next to Jimmy, glad he decided to stop by early and enjoy a leisurely smoke before school. "They had me help downstairs, stacking posters and shit to send out." He muttered stonily.

Jimmy almost felt bad for the prank knowing that. Almost.

"You should have drawn penises on the swastikas before they mailed them off or something. Not my fault you missed a perfectly good opportunity to fuck with people all over the country cause you were too busy feeling sorry for yourself."

"Fuck you."

Before either of them could dwell on it for too long the double doors of the building across the alleyway opened. They watched as a small procession of people marched out carrying boxes and baskets of crap to pile into the back of the van parked nearby.

"Huh." But before David could say anything the alarm on Jimmy's phone went off, "What time is it?"

"Almost 5:30."

"Shit, I gotta get home." He stood up to leave. The old man who stood watch by the doors visibly tensed as he drew closer before curtly guiding the two youngest members of the group inside. With a maniacal grin David called out to Jimmy as he jogged out onto the sidewalk, "Thanks for the blowjob! See ya at school!"

Asshole. Jimmy scowled.

He watched him disappear around the corner, already planning out how he was gonna get the douche bag back.

As Jimmy stood to leave his Bible Jockey neighbors tittered about public displays of faggotry, which while not the worst epithet used in relation to him was certainly one of the more irritating. Several disgusted looks followed him as he took off in the other direction to meet a contact before class started. Later that day during lunch he found a big fat rat near the cafeteria dumpster and turned it loose in David's PE locker. He felt no remorse even when David complained about having to help his family mail out racist propaganda the upcoming weekend too for "bringing an animal onto school grounds" and "destroying school property".

It was on Friday, while waiting for David's ride that the two of them saw a huge rush of students trying to get to a large crowd of people around the shopping mall for the second time that year. Just like back then the street was blocked and the whole area noisier than usual with chatter and honks from the cars on either side of the human dam.

David only stuck around long enough to cross the street and stand at the edge of the crowd with Jimmy. His father parked a few blocks away to pick him up, warned by his son via text message about the trouble brewing in the parking lot across from the school. After he left Jimmy elbowed his way to the front of the crowd.

It was a mob scene. The demonstrators were mostly packed against their cars while the huge crowd pressed forward, yelling angrily. He couldn't tell what the whole mess was about from where he was but the scraps of torn up signs under the feet of the crowd gave a good indication.

The fundies didn't stick around for more than a few hours. He caught sight of them later in the day on his way back from a little business a few streets down ducking into their cars to escape from the screaming mob in the shopping center parking lot. Their piece of shit cars took off pretty quick considering how old they looked.

Slowly the crowd started to disperse, seemingly satisfied with how well they'd driven their enemies away. As they left many of the adults were still in deep discussion, arguing, much more gently, with each other over true Christianity and how those "horrible people" gave it a bad name.

Not particularly interested in joining the discussion Jimmy pushed his way past them. He used boney knees and elbows to cross the parking lot and slip into a small convenience store, tapping the Marlboro sign in the doorway out of habit.

"God, I love when they show up."

"It's horrible that they twist the bible like that." A woman at the register shook her head disapprovingly. "Jesus preached love, not hate. I feel so sorry for those kids, growing up with such anger in them, as the foundation of their faith . . ."

"But it's great for business."

Jimmy ducked to the back of the store, snatching a bag of Doritos on the way as more of a reflex than an actual need to steal. He wasn't doing too bad money-wise but it couldn't hurt to test his skills from time to time while the people up front were distracted.

His guy, Jeff, had told him that the drop would be by the trashcans, said if they weren't there then he was screwed because that meant either someone else had stumbled on them by accident or knew they were being stashed there.

Accident or not he'd take out on Jeff's hide, loose-lipped asshole that he was. He slipped out of the building through the back just as a the remaining dregs of mob were wandering out and away for the night.

Jimmy quickly scanned his surroundings, dismissing the sound of nearby dogs and the smell of garbage as he stalked over to the blocked off trash area. It wasn't till he was a good 5 ft away that he heard hushed voices.

" . . . should stay here?"

"Things looked pretty bad. I don't think anyone will attack us but I'd rather wait until some of those people go home before heading out. They pushed you down pretty hard, I don't want to chance it."

"It smells really bad out here. Like something died."

"With all the glass and nails around here I wouldn't be surprised."

They were near the trash bins.

[]

"It smells really bad out here. Like something died." Edgar winced. It hadn't really been much of a plan to duck behind the building. The crowd had surged at some point and he and Jeremiah had been separated from the congregation.

The whole thing turned into a disaster, a horrible and dangerous disaster. When they'd tried to reconnect with them they'd been pushed back and Jeremiah had nearly been trampled.

They'd hidden in the first place they could find, which of course smelled really bad. Leftover cinderblocks had been piled along one end, where they decided to sit, and several tall green trash cans with wheels were overflowing with trash across from them.

"With all the glass and nails around here," he glanced down guiltily at the ugly scratches on his little brother's palms and knees, "I wouldn't be surprised." Jeremiah hadn't complained about the small injuries much but they still looked bad. He wanted to clean them up but didn't want to risk running into the group of men who'd outright attacked them in the first place.

"Mom's right, it'll take a miracle to save those people-" Jeremiah suddenly cut off staring wide-eyed at the entrance of the little alcove. Edgar followed his line of sight up to where the skinny, dark frame of a teenage boy stood blocking them in.

Edgar, at a loss for what else to do, stood up and scooted his younger brother behind him. They watched the teen stride over to the trashcans and, while keeping a half wary half irritated eye on them, pull from some hidden place a small black duffle.

'Please let that be it. Just walk away and leave, we don't want any trouble.'

The teenager, whoever he was, inspected them from his position near the only exit.

'God, help us. Please don't let him be one of the men who attacked my family.'

Inside of Edgar's chest a knot formed right between his lungs and in direct connection to his heart. Each second that went by under the scrutiny of young man, with an alarming appreciation of the color black, made that knot tighten. His pulse flew, behind him his younger brother shuffled out of view of the frightening stranger.

Then suddenly, after possibly coming to the conclusion that Edgar and Jeremiah weren't a threat, all of the tension seemed to drain away from the teen. His shoulders dropped in a lazy tilt, head drooping to one side as he regarded them with a bored stare.

"You two are from that group with the signs." Not a question, definitely not a question. He was eyeing their khaki pants as if they were a dead giveaway.

Which was kind of silly, plenty of people still wore khakis. Edgar knew because there was always an abundance of them at the second hand shop where they got their clothes.

"Ya know," he took several steps forward, boots scuffing the gravely ground, "'m pretty sure all your people left already." His eyes looked kinda sleepy, the skin of his lids black like a bruise.

Edgar silently prayed that the man wasn't high or drunk, or already set on hurting them. Maybe if he distracted him he could give Jeremiah a chance to run away.

"Got any cash on you?" A shiver of dread ran down his spine. Were they being robbed?

"I'm sorry," his little brother's fingers were digging into the arm he had twisted behind his back. Images of their mangled, bloody bodies flashed in his mind's eye, "but we don't have any money."

That got a laugh, and a sort of half-sway one might do when one might need to go to the bathroom.

"Yeah I figured." Dark eyes traveled from his shoes up to his face. "Don't look like the type to carry anything useful on you."

Dread, horrible horrible dread was following the path of those eyes. This couldn't be happening.

He stepped back again, his legs hitting the front of Jeremiah's knees. He could feel them shaking. Edgar thanked God Almighty that, at the very least, this person so far was focused on him.

"Just a bag full of bibles, anyone else and I'd check but I remember you." He pointed at Edgar's face like the whole thing just hilarious. "You guys were out there at the beginning of the year. Nearly started a riot then too."

"Oh you were there?" He nodded, willing to go along with anything at that point. "Do you go to the school across the street?" His reply was an absent nod yes as the guy reached into his pocket for cigarettes and a lighter. "I hope our demonstrations didn't cause you or the other students any trouble, it's usually just one of the best places to interact with more people."

"Guess it would be." He mumbled back. Edgar's brain scrambled for something else to say, anything to keep the conversation friendly. He didn't have much experience with socializing so short of mentioning the weather, which was not nice even at the moment, or asking about school Edgar had no idea where to go from there.

The silence stretched uncomfortably.

"Listen, we-" he stopped unsure if he was doing the right thing in such a situation, if it was good or bad to bring attention to his little brother, "_I've_ got to get home, my family is probably really worried . . ."

Oh God, was he being rude? Was he making the situation worse by reminding this person that it had been a long time since the protest had started? Were most of the people there gone already?

The guy's face adopted a peculiar expression. Edgar didn't like it.

". . . It was really nice to meet you-?"

"Jimmy."

"-nice to meet you, Jimmy." Jeremiah stood up behind him, ready to leave as well. He grabbed his bag and stepped forward uncertainly.

_Jimmy_ was still blocking the only way out. Edgar wondered briefly, before he could stop himself, if the guy had a knife on him somewhere.

"You live in that big white building down the street, yeah?"

No

No no no no

"I saw that little kid there the other day at least." He gave them a considering look at the both of them. "Pretty sure I've seen you there too." His tone made it clear that arguing was useless.

"Uh-"

"I live in the building behind you. Come on."

"That's nice of you, but really we're fine-"

"I'm heading home anyway." And just like that Jimmy slipped like a shadow out of the cinderblock trash niche.

"Edgar, what do we do?"

But what could he say to comfort his little brother? They had no way to call for help, no money or anything to defend themselves with. He _didn't_ know what to do.

"Hurry the fuck up." Clipped, commanding and impatient. Edgar was jarred from his ponderings by the shout, his grip on Jeremiah's wrist tight. He refused to let go.

Cautiously he peeked out. To his left was a long stretch of gravel alleyway and to his right was the street where the guy, Jimmy, stood irritated and scowling. At least Jimmy didn't have any friends nearby. If they could get to the parking lot things would be better. There would be others there, multiple sets of eyes to watch them and make sure nothing happened.

'If he wanted to kill us what better a place than in an alley? Maybe this isn't as bad as I'm making this out to be. Know not, judge not.'

Except there weren't more people. The lot was empty. And even though the lights in most of the shops were on he couldn't see anyone at the registers or near the windows. The signs he could see said they were open but no one was within eyesight, probably not within earshot either. There was enough light in the sky that most of the road was still visible. As if on autopilot he kept going, thinking all the while that he should take his little brother and run into one of the stores for a phone.

Jimmy was walking on one side, the smell of smoke heavy around him, while Jeremiah was on the other. His little brother was trembling faintly where he was holding on to him. They were halfway across the parking lot when Jimmy broke the heavy silence.

"Do they usually drive off and leave you guys at the mercy of angry mobs or was this just a really bad day for your family?" He rasped at them, smoke spilling out with each word in whit wisps. He laughed at Jeremiah's flinch and Edgar's uncomfortable expression.

'God just let them drive up.'

Their escort cleared his throat absently as they reached the sidewalk. Headlights from down the street stopped Edgar and his brother in their tracks. By the time the unfamiliar vehicle passed _he_ was about a yard ahead staring back at them impatiently.

'God please, deliver us.'

Jimmy wasn't sure what he was doing.

"I thought you wanted to get home." It probably sounded a lot harsher than he'd intended. Oh well.

The little boy was staring at his bag. "What's in that?"

"Jeremiah, hush."

Jimmy sneered down at the little shit as his . . . older brother, uncle or whoever tried to get him to keep him quiet.

"What's in the bag? Drugs? Guns?"

"Jeremiah stop!" The little boy was desperately jerked around by the older man who knelt down to look him right in the eye. "Not now." He whispered urgently. The kid nodded, shaking like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

A little node of satisfaction wiggled with glee inside of Jimmy.

Older dude stood and pulled the kid closer to him, glancing at Jimmy uncertainly.

"That's why I hate kids," He nodded over at the blue-eyed loud mouth beside the older man, "they stick their fucking faces where they shouldn't." A twinge of something flitted across the other man's face. Jimmy wondered not for the first time just how old he could be.

He was a little taller than Jimmy, probably a few inches at best. Gangly but not awkward like a teen, Jimmy grudgingly admitted that his face might've looked mature or whatever. He could easily be the Little Shit in 10 years if it weren't for the obvious difference in skin and hair color.

Someone in that family probably had a slice of Hispanic pie somewhere along the way, it would explain how he managed to be that particular shade of Latin so late in the year. Considering the family Jimmy doubted it was spray tan.

He was brought back to reality by an uncomfortable cough.

"I'm sorry for the trouble, we'll get out of your way." And without warning Dude and the kid took off across the street. The little kid was half dragged, half ushered away, feet stomping the blacktop then suddenly quieting as they hurried down the sidewalk.

Jimmy watched them for several seconds and seriously considered the pros and cons of following but before he could decide a rumbling van turned a corner, it's headlights illuminating their backs

He watched a familiar, off-white heap of junk pull up to a stop beside them. The rear doors burst open and a woman hopped out, swooping in to gather up the sobbing little boy against her and whispering softly to him. Jimmy watched the reunion with a sneer of distaste and unease. Thankfully no one bothered to even glance his way.

The doors slammed shut again with both wayward family members safely squirreled away inside. The van drove off in a dark puff of exhaust. Jimmy was alone again, silently contemplating the whereabouts of the little white bible he'd tossed somewhere in his room and the informational packet he knew was still tucked inside.

[]

"What on earth happened?"

Mayra rushed Jeremiah off to the bathroom, their mother closing in from behind with a bowel and towels. His father's hand came down on Edgar's shoulder like a lead weight, turning him to face both him and his brother, and Edgar's uncle, Nathaniel.

"We drove around looking for the both of you. Where did you go?"

"Nowhere." Edgar paused, his little brother's sobbing filling in the silence. The two older men stared him down, his father carefully blank and his uncle slightly suspicious. "When the crowd surged on everyone we tried to reach the car but someone pushed Jeremy down. I grabbed him and ran." He ended in a whisper, still not sure he'd done the right thing. "The men who threatened us were still yelling after everyone left, I didn't know what else to do so we waited in the alley for them to leave." Edgar, ashamed, couldn't bring himself to look either man in the eyes.

If his family hadn't driven up at just that moment . . . anything could have happened. He and Jeremiah had been at the mercy of a very unsavory person who may or may not have been armed, who might have been leading them off somewhere, who could have killed if not seriously harmed them.

His father's grip on his shoulder relaxed and when Edgar looked up he saw acceptance and understanding.

"I'm glad you're both safe." He gave Edgar's shoulder a reassuring pat, his voice a calm thrum through the tension of the tiny foyer. "The hand of God was with us tonight. He knows we do good work, he never left your side." He sighed, eyes heavy with relief. Edgar felt another twinge of remorse. His uncle's face was still hard with disappointment. "We thank God tonight for the safe return of the entire flock. No one was hurt."

All three men heard the bathroom door down the hall open. Edgar's mother stepped out, eyes red, face lined and sad. She glanced between each of them, dazed before settling on her husband.

"He's gonna be fine. Just a few scratches on his knees and hands." She looked over, unsure, at her oldest son. "He said a man made you both follow him." Edgar grimaced and she continued, spurred by his reaction. "That's why he's still crying, he was scared. I can't get much else out of him." This time it was Nathaniel who grabbed Edgar and spun him around.

"Was that who I saw across the street?" He stared hard into Edgar's eyes as if waiting for a lie. "Did you know him?"

"No. I'd never seen him before—"

"Why didn't you say something about this earlier?" His father interjected, concerned.

"I don't know—"

"Jeremiah mentioned drugs and guns—!" His mother cut in, voice near hysterical.

"We didn't actually see anything like that—"

"Then why would your brother say that he saw—"

"Erica, screaming will not help matters." She glared shrewdly at her husband who approached calmly, his arms opened to embrace her.

"Don't tell me to be calm when one of my kids is still crying in Mayra's lap. He is traumatized."

"Why did you follow him if you didn't know him?" Edgar's uncle asked.

Everyone was talking at once, his parents arguing, his uncle interrogating him. Whatever fear he'd felt earlier had left him exhausted, drained. He just wanted to make sure his brothers were okay, that Mayra hadn't been hurt, that his entire family was intact and he needed to see it with his own eyes. Instead all he could see was his uncle's shrewd expression as he snapped his fingers in front of Edgar's face, calling his name.

As if by the grace of God his older sister stepped in with Aaron and Jeremiah to either side of her. Their quiet sniffling effectively stopped the angry babbling.

"If all you're going to do is yell then please do so outside." The skin around her eyes was puffy and red as well. She gestured gently to the boys as she guided them over to the couch. "They don't need to hear it." Once they were seated she motioned for everyone to follow.

Once everyone was seated all eyes seemed to fall on him. He started off slow, explaining that when Jeremiah fell there were so many people that he'd almost been trampled. Edgar noticed Aaron leaning against his side and wondered what might have happened if he'd had his 9 year old brother instead of his 12 year old one. Aaron was so much smaller, he might have actually been stomped on or just lost in the crowd.

He carefully slipped his arm around little Aaron's shoulders, a comfort for himself as much as for the smallest member of his family who hugged him back.

"There was this little area behind the store where they dump the trash. We hid there so I could get a look Jeremy's cuts. That's when _he_ showed up. Said his name was Jimmy."

[]

He stared down at the dingy brochure, fingers idly tracing the list of people under a group photo. No last names, which was smart. Made it harder to track down where people lived if either their last or first names weren't listed. A useless precaution in this situation, he already knew where they lived.

Left to Right: Madison, Lenny, Henry, Mayra, Aaron, Edgar, Jeremiah, Gregory, Erica, Nathaniel, Justin, Jessica, Philip, Chris.

He scratched out the face of each name that led up to the one he was looking for and all the ones after.

Edgar

There was a number on the back of the brochure and an address for a place to meet the congregation downtown for service. Jimmy took out a pen and set it, the brochure, and the bible on the table beside his bed. Next service was on Wednesday, 8 pm - 9 pm.

End part 1


	2. Dreams and Premonitions

Apocalypse

Part 2

_Jimmy wasn't sure if he was in the same desert where the highway had been. It was warmer and the moon was fucking huge and unfamiliar. He'd wandered from the highway? Perhaps while dreaming . . ._

_The only noise outside of the slush of sand under his boots was the low hiss of grimy wind against his back._

_He looked around, scanning the plane for something memorable to mark his way but could only find an unimpressive spattering of dead trees and cacti. It was bleak and dry and devoid of life. He kept walking._

_Eventually, after an eternity of aimless wandering he turned into the wind and caught the whispering scent of blood in all its coppery glory. Relieved for the change of pace he stumbled towards the red flag waving in the air, eyes mostly shut against the bashing blows of sand and grit against his face._

_He was practically crawling the ridge of a low hill when the wind suddenly changed direction, slamming into his left side. Unprepared he tumbled down, dead plants hitting him like fists the whole way. He hit bottom like a sack of meat, lolling into something warm and sticky._

_This time the smell of blood wasn't teasing, it overwhelmed him and for a moment he thought maybe he'd cracked his head on a rock, skull split open like a broken egg, oozing his brain matter and fluids. He was in pain for sure._

_More warmth seeped into his clothes, death tickling the skin of his side with fingers covered in fresh kill. Jimmy opened his eyes and saw._

_Flies buzzed loud between the growling yips of wild dogs as they tore into something, flesh ripped from the bones of some nameless desert-dweller. He watched as the great hulking shadows destroyed their meal, delighting in the messy slop._

_He watched, unable to move, unable to think as one by one those monsters caught wind of his bruised and battered body, unblinking yellow eyes focused on him. The beast closest to him snarled viciously as the pack lunged—_

[]

Edgar was gathering the chairs when he noticed him.

The other parishioners had been whispering about someone hanging around the back. Jeremiah had seemed particularly unsettled but there were a surprising number of new people and Edgar couldn't tell one stranger from another.

Once the room cleared he saw _him_ hovering behind the row of seats near the doors.

Just as Edgar had the presence of mind to turn and tell someone about the deranged looking teen he slipped out with the tail end of the crowd.

_What on Earth?_

A small hand slipped into his. Edgar glanced down and saw Aaron, oblivious to the very strange thing his older brother had just seen, twine their fingers and fiddle with the frayed cuff of Edgar's sleeve.

Jimmy hadn't technically tried to hurt them the other night. He'd escorted them out of the alley, which in and of itself was odd, had walked with them to the street with the intention of taking them home and for what?

_What do you want?_

They'd been terrified at the time, alone in that alley with a stranger. Alone and backed into a corner where anything could have happened to either of them. If they'd been in trouble would anyone have heard them? The parking lot had been empty and eerily silent, everyone gone, how long would it have taken for someone to find them in that little alcove?

The clattering of fold-up chairs brought him back to the present. Aaron squeezed his fingers before letting go and wandering over to help gather the books lying around. Edgar looked back towards the door and puzzled over Jimmy.

_Why did you come here?_

Later that night, in the quiet safety of their home Edgar brought Jimmy's attendance to his father's attention. He asked for guidance and understanding of where such a strange person could fit into His plan.

"Why do you think he's important at all?" His father asked him, taking a moment to consider Edgar carefully.

"I'd seen him before, when we gathered near the school. And after what happened the other night," he broke off with a wince, aware of how fatalist he sounded, "Could it be a coincidence?"

"I am blessed to know, to some small extent, what our Lord intends for us at this time," his father said as he observed his son with world weary eyes, "but I must confess to knowing no more than that." The Prophet reached out and gave his shoulder a comforting shake. Edgar felt the grace of God in that touch, felt such strength shine at him through that tired smile. His father was closer to the Heavenly Father than anyone else in their congregation and was still so humble.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," Edgar suddenly felt as tired as his father looked, "it seems kind of petty, well, considering everything else we're going to have to deal with here soon." His father grimaced and moved away to sit in a comfortable old chair near the window of his office.

"This must be a very terrible thing for you kids to live through," he motioned thoughtlessly towards the staircase that led up to the bedroom where Edgar's brothers and sister slept, "for people so young . . ." He drifted off for a moment, eyes staring into the cold night just outside his window, "I can only imagine how troubling it must be."

"We have faith in His plan."

"Faith doesn't make it any less terrifying." He sighed, his wrinkled hands achy with cold. Edgar pulled a kitchen chair across from his father and sat with him. "I am terrified, Edgar."

A horrible pit of dread hollowed itself out in Edgar's chest. His father grew quiet and somber as if considering the consequences of revealing such a thing. He was weathered, had the look of man who didn't need the responsibility of Salvation along with old age and poor health.

"I don't know what part that boy might have to play, _if_ he has one at all," he looked up, his visage no longer frail, and stared sternly at his eldest son, "influence can come from any direction. Heaven isn't the only player at the table." He reached out again but this time took Edgar's hand. "Nor am I the only one who is guided by the hand of God."

[]

Jimmy watched from the back, it was the third week he'd shown up to loiter around doors.

The pastor's words phased in and out, a moan of penance and holy retribution, and he couldn't believe this kind of shit was what really got some people going. They were way into it, were crying by the end, gratefully dropping money into a small collection basket as it went by like they were paying to be scared shitless.

Every now and then he'd feel the pinpricks of eyes as someone somewhere in the crowd turned to peer at him. Near the front an older man, whose face he might have scratched out of that picture back home, watched him watching Edgar with a sour expression.

There was no point engaging the looks, not yet at least. Not if it got him kicked out.

And yeah _he_ was up at the front doing shit and praying with that vague look on his stupid face. Every now and then he'd look over too, especially near the end of the service.

Like he was doing at that exact moment, except that he was half turned in his chair to really look over the crowd directly at Jimmy which was definitely not what he usually did. He uncurled his arms from over his chest uncertainly as Edgar stood and walked along the side of the room.

He looked around, sure of an ambush of parishioners. Edgar reached the opposite side of the main entrance and started propping both doors open just as preacher-man in his big-ass white hat wished everyone a safe journey in God's grace, or whatever. As the bulk of church-goers made their escape Jimmy was stuck inside with a steady stream of people looking at him as they left.

Edgar was just around the corner calmly and kindly bidding everyone goodbye.

As he waited, for the assholes blocking the door to hurry the fuck up, Jimmy considered the people across the room gathering up their shit. Preacher-man was benignly overseeing the exit of his flock without so much as sparing him a glance. The others eyed him with obvious distrust as they gathered up the books left in the seats

When the last wobbly-jointed old lady finally hobbled her way outside, and thanked Edgar for holding the door for her, Jimmy finally tried to leave. At least that's all he'd planned to do. It was all he'd ever planned to do, show up, watch Edgar for a bit, then get the fuck out. Except that he was an opportunist at heart, didn't have to think about it most of the time. Any time he saw and opening he took it.

Edgar at some point while outside had rolled up the sleeves of his ugly, long-sleeved, buttoned-down shirt. It was his own fault, leaving long expanses of skin within Jimmy's reach.

[]

The ghost of fingertips along his arm as Jimmy slipped out was deliberate, just out of sight of his family. He stood frozen, staring at the floor as his mind struggled through what had just happened.

"Well that was unexpected, I was sort of hoping he'd say something." Mayra stepped up beside him to fiddle with the locks above the doors.

"Wha-?"

"He was staring the whole time. I mean, I'm glad he hasn't caused a scene during mass but I was sort of hoping having you back here would lead to something outside of his usual creeper routine." She stepped back and looked Edgar up and down critically. "I can't just demand he leave since he hasn't done anything but I don't know if I'm comfortable welcoming him to the church if he's just here to look at you. For obvious reasons, you know?"

Edgar swallowed, sure that the phantom sensation of Jimmy's fingers had left a mark Mayra could find if she looked hard enough. He grabbed his forearm and grimaced. She shot him an unimpressed look, shaking her head as she jiggled the doors to make sure they were locked.

"Look, I know you'd feel bad telling him to leave," Mayra admonished, "but not everyone wants to be saved. Not everyone can be saved. Him showing up doesn't mean he's actually interested in joining the faith." Her nose scrunched up. "And it's not like he participated in any meaningful way during mass. The way he just sits at the back and . . ." she tipped her head to one side as she remembered, her expression uncomfortable, "it was just weird."

"Uh . . ."

His sister shrugged and shoved him towards the chairs and demanded he get started folding them up. He instead followed her over to the crates of books ready to be stacked in the back of the van.

"But that's not—?"

"Edgar-" She moaned, exasperated.

"_Edgar_, don't stand around and talk. Help your mother with the chairs like you were asked." His uncle called over to him from where he was instructing Aaron and Jeremiah on how to organize the books before crating them. Mayra winked at him as he slouched over to Erica, shamefaced.

Later that night back in their home the family gathered for dinner. It was Mayra and Edgar's duty, as the eldest children, to set the prepared meal and serve the family. For the first time in what felt to him like months Edgar felt the hard, judgmental stare of Nathanial as he watched them arrange everything in the center of the table.

The look his sister gave him, as they made the final trip to gather napkins and cutlery, spoke volumes. Mayra could sense an argument festering at the table and she sincerely hoped Edgar could as well and would keep his mouth shut. She had a pretty good idea what it was about and who'd do all the talking and her stupid little brother didn't need to add to it.

Father's expression was carefully blank while their mother's eyes studied the pattern of their lace table cloth carefully. Nathanial grimaced at his plate, looking dissatisfied with the final portions of food that Edgar spooned onto his plate.

Once their chore was complete Edgar and Mayra sat down in their respective places at the table. Aaron and Jeremiah, oblivious to the coming argument, stomped over to the table under the admonishment of their mother for running inside the home. Their giggling slowly tapered off as they became aware of the heavy silence around the rest of the table. Someone had something to say.

Nathanial cleared his throat, shifted his silverware, and then pulled his napkin from his lap and set it over his plate. No one would pray or eat until he'd said his peace.

"Are we done with this foolishness?" He muttered in the general direction of the children, careful to avoid looking at his brother's unmoving figure to his right. His question was met with an uncomfortable silence. Aaron blinked slowly at his uncle, his hands nervously picking at the hem of his shirt. Jeremiah took a cue from his mother and stared at the tablecloth.

Mayra met Nathanial's look calmly. Edgar glowered and scratched his forearm. Their uncle seemed to zero in on the streaks of fading red on his nephew's skin like it actually meant something.

Which was stupid.

"We do not have time to indulge in risky behaviors." He said carefully. "We are aware of what is coming, aren't we?" And Edgar knew in the pit of his stomach that even though his uncle looked at the both of them, Nathanial was speaking directly to him. Still Mayra nodded her assurance to him as if it had anything to do with her.

"I understand that it's a hard decision to make, turning someone away but it's in our best interest to avoid temptation." Edgar blanched when his uncle turned right then from Mayra to him. "Before all of _this_," he gestured somewhere above their heads, "I would have wanted to help him too but we have to think of our parishioners, of the other families and their children." He motioned to Aaron and Jeremy. "We have to think of these two and the fact that he's making mass uncomfortable for everyone else."

"There are plenty of other people who attend mass and whose looks caused discomfort when they first arrived. We didn't turn them away." Edgar couldn't help but point out. "We didn't turn away Mrs. Gwish for her tattoos or her daughter for the black clothes that she wears."

"Her daughter stopped attending three years ago."

"But her mother, Mrs Gwish didn't."

"It's not the same thing, she came to be healed spiritually. Anybody with eyes can see that boy's ill-intent." His uncle insisted incredulously. "Ill-intent, I may add, that seems to be focused on _you_." Edgar could sense several of his family members shifting in their seats. Confirmation.

"We haven't spoken since that night. He's made no attempt to approach or proposition me."

_Right?_

"At all." He finished firmly.

"Maybe he hasn't, but who's to say that he won't." His uncle's expression became pinched. "I feel that with time and further contact things may get out of hand."

Nathanial took note of every change in his nephew's expression, from pale shock to horrified disbelief, finally to breathless despair and remembrance.

"I can't believe that you'd imply—"

"The only thing I am implying is that of all my brother's children you may not speak the loudest or demand to have your way but you do exhibit a dangerous amount of pride." No one contradicted him. No one denied on Edgar's behalf his uncle's horrible statement that one of his nephew's greatest sins was a terrible one, the kind of sin that could deny him his place beside his family in heaven. "Here I am_ asking_ that we consider the safety of our family, and the other families, that instead of indulging a heathen we simply let him be on his way, and here _you_ are arguing with me. As if you have any right, as if you know better than me."

"It's not like I'm disagreeing just to start a fight with you." Edgar sputtered. "This is someone's soul we're talking about. Turning him away isn't him just leaving to spend the rest of his life doing whatever, sending him away is letting him walk blindfolded into a lake of fire," he looked from Nathanial's face to his father's, "forever. Of all the people who've come to us plenty of them just stopped but no one has for as long as I can remember been turned away."

"You do realize, son that we can't save everyone." His father interjected quietly. "Very few people will enter the kingdom of heaven and we can't save the ones who don't, not all of them."

"Of course I know that—"

"And as wonderful as your conviction is to the standards of our church they can't apply to everyone."

"Which is exactly why," Nathanial interrupted Edgar just as he was opening his mouth to speak, "the best thing to do is as I suggested—"

"—But I'm not asking that we save everyone. I'm not even asking that you talk to him personally. He's already there, we don't have to convince him to come." Edgar's finger's gripped the edge of the table. "What message does it send if we turn him away when he hasn't actually caused any trouble?"

"Two days of isolation downstairs for interrupting your uncle and raising your voice." His father cut in. "Disagreeing with him won't cause you grief with _me,_ but disrespect will. You should be ashamed of your behavior."

"That's not fair," Edgar muttered, his eyes fixed on the salt shaker where it leaned precariously against the small stack of napkins, on the verge of tipping over. "I'm not doing anything shameful."

"It's perfectly fair, you naive little waste." His uncle hissed, face twisted into an angry snarl. "No one gets more than anyone else. If that little faggot—"

"Nathanial, that's enough. We'll continue this discussion after dinner." His father's voice was paper thin but the sound of it still made both Edgar and his uncle flinch. Although most of the time he was willing to let Nathanial speak his fill he always stepped in before things got too heated. There were only a few lines that when crossed would bring his father and uncle at odds with one another. Edgar hadn't realized what it would be like to have one of those lines have anything to do with him.

"—if that _boy_ had any interest in devoting his life to the Lord," Nathanial continued, "he wouldn't spend the entirety of mass gawking at another of the same sex like a _sodomite_ _dog_." All eyes by that point were on their uncle's red face. Mayra glanced from Edgar to him as if afraid the argument would come to blows. "And I frankly find it disgusting that you would exchange glances with such a disparager, that you would defend the tainting of our congregation, his presence is a disease."

"The only one who can judge the sins of man is God."

"And your brother, Edgar?" His mother voice quietly begged. "Jeremiah was in tears when we brought you both home, are you okay with someone in the church who terrified your little brother?" He turned from Nathanial's incriminating stare, looked at the two youngest, most helpless members of his family, watched Jeremy shuffle awkwardly in his seat. _Had_ Jimmy been deliberately trying to scare them? Hadn't he said something about not liking little kids? Would they have made it home if his family hadn't driven up?

Edgar didn't have the answers to any of those questions, would never have them if Jimmy was sent away.

Slowly he came back to the present and abandoned, for another time, the memory of fingers sliding along his skin and shrewd eyes following him from darkened streets and shadowy doorways. Everyone was watching him, his uncle with anger and pity, his mother pleadingly, his brothers with awkward ignorance, Mayra with the same knowing exasperation. They looked at him as if the argument had been inevitable, as if they'd been waiting for years for him to humiliate himself in such a way.

He couldn't read his father's expression however, which was terrifying in its own right. Nor did he have an answer to give his mother and that made him feel incredibly guilty. So he swallowed a scathing comment about faith and hypocrisy and his family, most of them happy the argument was over, let him have his silence. After a few moments to himself his mother took his left hand in her right and placed them on the table with her eyes closed. Everyone followed suit and soon their father was leading the family with a small spoken prayer that they all mimicked in silence.

[]

"Fucking assholes!" Jimmy snarled at the door as it clicked shut right in front of him. He hadn't even made it to the door before two older dudes had crowded him back down just long enough for everyone else to hurry in.

"Fuck this shit."

He plopped down on the bottom of the steps to consider his choices. Getting kicked out hadn't really been part of the plan. Jimmy had hoped that it would take at least another week before he'd have to worry about sneaking into places. Well screw it either way, they couldn't keep him out.

Behind him one of the doors opened.

"You aren't gonna find what you're looking for here, son. Go on home, find another church tomorrow. We can't help you."

He looked up and back at Preacher-man, took in the familiar ugly white hat and scoffed. "Like I give a shit what you say. You can't fucking tell me where to go." Jimmy turned back around and stared out at the parking lot, feigning nonchalance. "And 'son', really? Way to play into that creepy preacher-pedophile stereotype."

The sound of the door being slammed shut behind him was so much more satisfying than the idea of sitting around and waiting for everyone to come out of their secret society meeting. He could live with that for the day and leave fairly content. Jimmy still wanted to scope out the rest of the building, check for more entrances, maybe sketch out a rough map, before heading home to catch some sleep.

He pulled out a notebook and circled the building back to the alley to get a good idea of how big and where the back entrances where. And then, just in case anyone inside the building was watching from one of the windows upstairs he took off down the alley. He'd come back later and draw better maps inside.

[]

Isolation was a terrible place to be when experiencing a moral crisis, Edgar found. His family provided a constant buffer between him and any issues regarding what some would consider normal biological urges, but two days without them left Edgar somewhere west of vulnerable and east of crazy. Reading from scripture helped as long as he had the awareness to do so. Exhaustion led to an idle body and mind. Sleep was a curse.

He convinced himself, by the time Mayra came to unlock the bedroom door the second night, that he was better. For the half hour leading up to his release he knew that his father had been right. Jimmy was just another test, another influence to lead him astray.

And when Mayra looked at him she seemed genuinely happy his punishment was over, she looked relieved that he seemed to finally understand that he'd been wrong. She quietly informed him that everything would be taken care of and that he had nothing else to worry about.

He trusted her, trusted all of them to be that buffer and put the predicament aside. Edgar couldn't make it go away but he could do the best for his family by not letting his personal sins weigh them down. If ignoring it wasn't good enough for Edgar himself in God's eyes then it would be his cross to bear alone.

The one thing that he couldn't shake from isolation, however, was the silence. He ate at the dinner table with everyone else that evening and when his uncle said some pointed things about what he planned to do the upcoming week to keep Jimmy out of mass Edgar couldn't summon the energy to say or think anything.

"I think that sounds reasonable. No fuss or dramatics. There's no need for that, right? Doesn't that sound like a reasonable plan to you?" He looked at Mayra first who gave him a faint smile. Nathanial then looked at his nephew expectantly. When he nodded, his uncle was pleased.

The following Wednesday during mass everyone, including his own family watched Edgar very carefully as the plan was put into motion. He gave himself a brief moment to wonder just how long everyone had been waiting for something like that to happen to him before burying that thought as well.

No one flinched, though some did laugh, at the obscenities screamed through the community center doors. After mass most of the congregation rushed out to see if the exiled teen was still there and were disappointed to find that he was gone. His father congratulated his uncle for the plan's success.

Edgar was too tired, his mind stretched too thin to feel anything.

Jimmy didn't try to attend their Wednesday mass again and no one they knew saw him go anywhere near any of the other churches. In the following weeks things seemed somewhat normal on the surface. His family continued to hold regular gatherings for prayer and he and his siblings spent an extra hour each day memorizing the scripture. On Edgar's suggestion the four of them also picked a psalm to recite together before bed. It all helped, as long as his family was with him it wasn't hard.

The more time that went by the fuzzier his memory of his strange encounter in the alley got. Jeremiah frequently regaled the story to their mother, gesturing wildly as he recounted the sleek black gun that had been aimed at them and the posse of shadowy thugs their attacker had clearly been in charge of. Aaron always listened rapturously, as if they'd escaped a horde of hell's hounds instead of a scraggly dark-haired teen. Jeremy was happy to have the awe of his younger brother and the sweet concern from everyone else so Edgar didn't correct him. His mother started throwing him looks though, as if he' deliberately kept from her the details of being shot at and narrowly escaping just to be difficult.

And even though while awake he could differentiate between the outrageous, sometimes hilariously so, stories his brother told the minute details still slipped into his subconscious, manifesting when he could least defend himself. It wasn't fair.

Edgar _hadn't_ been alone. Jimmy's pants _hadn't_ been that tight and he certainly _hadn't_ had a knife strapped to his thigh. And his shirt had been whole, not so full of rips and tears that bright expanses of pale skin could have shown through. That was not what happened.

But last night's dream had been the worst.

_Edgar was alone, staring at the cloth-covered table set up on a dimly lit dais. All of the chairs were facing it, arranged in long rows that stretched from one end of the room to the darkness of the other with a two-person-wide aisle leading to the main entrance. He sat in reverence of the beautiful presentation they'd built in honor of their God. Behind him one of the doors opened. Light flooded in. The room's only occupant was joined by another._

_Bright . . . heat . . . skin . . . taste and tongue. _

_Jimmy was warm and heavy in his lap, the distinct shape of a young man with wiry limbs and bony angles. His fingers were strong and sharp where they pressed deep into his shoulders. Edgar was pushed down and pried open, pillaged in that chair. Its legs scraped against the floor as the teen pushed him harder, as he tried to breathe him in and rip him apart. Slim hips rocked and Edgar's hands scrambled to grab them, and pin them down. Jimmy pulled back and pressed their foreheads together and the older teen finally had a chance to look his fill._

_He saw hunger, need, and flushed skin that he had the overwhelming urge to bite._

_No hesitation. No guilt. No shame. No lightning sent down to destroy them as Jimmy pulled them towards the dais. No fiery pit beneath their feet to swallow them whole. Only sweet warmth and light, as if this was a gift. _

_It made Edgar snap. It wouldn't be like before. He wouldn't run away. _

_He ripped his hands away, grabbed the teen's elbow and yanked him around the edge of the table. Hooded and amused eyes watched him as he helped Jimmy hop back to sit on the edge. He kissed a smirking mouth and felt a rush of heat when it opened to him. Giving. As if he understood, as if he'd read Edgar's thoughts and concerns he let his body lie back and go lax, let himself be moved to the center so Edgar could sit beside him, could loom over and fumble uncertainly against him. His fingers were jittery as he scraped them up Jimmy's skin, wrinkling his thread-bare shirt and—_

"Will you rinse these for me?" He stared stupidly at his sister from where she she'd situated herself in front of the kitchen sink. "Hello? You in there?" She waved her hand in front of his face.

He'd lost himself in the memory of a blasphemous dream right in the middle of the kitchen. He begged God why it had to be him, as he recovered with a reassuring smile for his sister. "Yeah, sure." He nodded, secretly mortified. He and Mayra stood shoulder to shoulder at the sink, finishing up. A few feet away in the dining area their mother was listening to another retelling of her sons' daring escape from the band of thugs and the teenage, mafia-lord leader Jimmy, humming occasionally to assure him she was paying attention. Jeremy and Aaron were helping her fold the stack of clothing in the center of the table and as he went into detail of the dilapidated state of Jimmy's clothes Edgar was once again reminded of his traitorous subconscious. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment and cleared all thoughts from his head. When he opened them he caught Mayra watching him, concerned.

"You okay?" She handed him another soapy glass.

"I'm fine." He focused on the dishes, imagining that if he wasn't careful they'd slip from between his fingers and break.

"Well, he seems to have recovered." She motioned behind them at Jeremy who was busy plowing through another rehashed story. Mayra rolled her eyes with a gentle smile at their brother's imagination and then frowned when she noticed Edgar staring distantly at the facet. "Maybe you should talk to father, he may be able to help with any difficulties you're having." And even that sounded like accusation to Edgar's ears.

He didn't talk to their father, he wouldn't burden him with Edgar's weakness, though he did speak to his older sister again later that night in their room. When she came in to sleep, after showering and then checking on their younger siblings, he watched her carefully towel the rest of the water out of her hair as he considered his plan to lower the chances of dreaming of his neighbor again.

They didn't bring her up often but Edgar hoped that talking about their birth mother might help drive the dangerous thoughts from his mind. He silently prayed for her spirit to protect and guide him. Mayra looked up at him from her side of the room, her hands still vigorously drying her curls, and smiled tiredly.

"I know that look." She tilted her head and stared at him a bit shrewdly. "You have something to say."

It used to be a sensitive subject for her, until a few years ago the only thing he'd known about his birth mother was that he'd had one . . . that they'd both had one. Edgar was happy that at least at the end of his life she'd allowed him some access to what memories she still had of her.

"I wonder how much we look like her."

"You always wonder if we look like her. Of course we do, everyone used to say I was just like her and you look like me so it stands to reason you have something from her as well."

"I don't look that much like you." Edgar laughed. Mayra threw her pillow at him with a snort.

"Well you're obviously not a girl, like I am, but we do have the same smile. Can I have that back please?" Edgar shook his head, clutching it as if it were a prize hard won.

"This one time, last year I think, an older man came up to me after the service and told me I look just like father when he was my age." Edgar put his sister's pillow on his stomach and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Mayra pouted.

"Does he still go to our service?" She picked up the brush in her lap and carefully pulled it through the ends of her hair.

"No. I can't really remember him from before then either." His sister huffed and stalked over to snatch her pillow back. He grinned, glad she was still okay with him enough to play around.

"Well," she drew out, crawling under her own blanket, "I guess the most obvious thing you have is his eyes, but you and I definitely have mom's smile." She reached up and switched off the lamp sitting on the windowsill of their bedroom. Edgar rolled under the covers and listened for a moment to her quiet breathing.

"You still call her mom."

"Can't help it. I'm not even sure the name I have for her in my head is entirely accurate, it's been so long." He heard rustling in the dark and the creak of bedsprings. "And I'm kind of afraid to ask dad about it. I don't think he'd be happy."

"What's something you remember about her?" A new memory that he hoped he would be able to hold on to. Mayra sighed.

"Mom used to spend Sunday nights reading to us. I remember because that was the only day off she had all week."

"But if she worked all week," Edgar murmured into his pillow, "then who watched us?"

"This old lady who lived nearby. She watched a bunch of kids from all around the neighborhood, I'd get dropped off by the bus at our house afterschool and I'd walk over. You'd be there all morning, you were so little. She got off at five, I think." Mayra exhaled loudly. "God I remember staring at that clock, just waiting for her to come get us."

"Was it that bad there?" They'd both heard of some of the terrible places kids could get shipped off to, of how sick they'd get in daycares and how bullied they'd be in public school. It was why their mom had decided to teach them from home.

"Not that I can remember. I think I just really missed her. That's why Sunday was the best day of the week." He heard her drifting off, fading into sleep while still trying to give him what he needed. "We had her all to ourselves back then."

[]

Jimmy watched them file in slowly, watched them greet each other all happy and shit, watched men, women, and children touch him.

"We're so glad you're feeling better, Mrs. Silva—"

They grabbed his hand and his shoulder, some of the older women would lean over and kiss his cheek while blathering about how much he'd grown. And Edgar would politely smile, indulge them, reach out to offer them a hand or escort an old person to their seat, the suck-up.

And then he did _it_ again. As the last person came in he took a long look outside, his eyes scanning from side to side before slowly pulling the doors shut and locking them. After that he returned to his seat, rubbing his forearm the whole way.

In the exact place that _Jimmy_ had touched him. It was the same thing he'd done the week before.

"Are you thinking about me?" Jimmy whispered from the darkened spectator's box way above the community center's main floor. He watched for the whole hour as Edgar sat quietly through the pastor-asshole's sermon, his hand occasionally brushing over his arm.

Jimmy sat back, the swivel chair creaking ominously. Down below the crowd perked up a bit as the Father's voice boomed the importance of family. Jimmy sneered down at them. He looked for Edgar and saw him reach out to either side of him and take the hands of a little boy and an older woman. For the first time that day he saw that his expression wasn't brittle.

[]

"I think everything's really coming together. Everyone seems to be taking him seriously and more are showing up." Mayra helped him maneuver the last chair dolly back into the hallway where no one would trip over them. It was dark outside and quiet all around, mass had ended and everyone had slowly marched their way out into the cold leaving Edgar's family to pick up the mess.

"Is this it?" He asked. His sister huffed and looked back into the Main Room where their parents were helping Jeremiah and Aaron pack crates.

"Yeah, I think so." She looked around, not in any rush to go back. "You wait here while I check with the main office about the keys. I don't want to wait for Erica to do it. She takes forever and it's cold outside."

"Wait, why can't I go with you?" She paused, halfway around the corner already.

"Well, you can come with me and we can both get in trouble for walking off without telling someone, you can go back in there and get roped into throwing the trash all by yourself again or you can wait here and pretend to be messing with the stacked chairs while Nathanial throws trash and when they come looking for us let them know I went for the keys." And with that she disappeared down the hall towards the Main Office.

Edgar stared after her for a moment, still processing what she'd said. In the distance he could hear his uncle wrestling with a garbage bag and decided the chairs needed some straightening anyway. Five minutes later Mayra still wasn't back and his uncle was still sweeping up some stuff from the floor, likely from some of the restless children, when Edgar heard it.

_Thump-Click_

He looked up. Soft footsteps traveled along the ceiling above him and he followed them, stepping back into the chair dolly. The metal wheels screeched, folding chairs clattering into each other noisily. In the gym behind him the sounds of his family continued uninterrupted but above him the footsteps stopped. He looked in the direction they'd been going, glancing cautiously at a door he'd seen before but had never paid much attention to.

_Stairwell B_

The Community Center where they held their mass was hardly ever used by anyone but them, especially since there was a nicer one near the suburbs that had a library and swimming pool. He'd never known anyone to use the second floor in all the time they'd been going there.

Around the corner he watched his sister chat with the nice lady who still maintained the older building, keys jingling absently in her hand.

It probably wasn't a good idea to go up and look. The last time he'd gone up there he'd been 7 and obnoxiously curious, and his mom had indulged him to avoid trouble. He and Mayra had marveled at the long panel of buttons and turn dials in the control box overlooking the Main Room/gymnasium and had pressed their faces against the full wall windows in the second floor foyer in awe. He'd seen it before and there was no way it would have changed. He had no excuse to chase vague sounds.

_Scuff . . . scuff-step-step-scuff . . ._

Except that they weren't vague, he could hear them distinctly above him.

He tested the door's latch and it clicked open.


	3. Strategies and Divine Plans

Apocalypse

Chapter 3

Strategies and Divine Plans

The door opened with a gentle creak and a puff of dusty air. Edgar heard his mom and the boys laughing, his father and uncle gathering trash bags and the hard metal _THUD_ of the doors as they disappeared outside. Mayra was still gone.

He looked up the stairs as he climbed them, anticipating the door being locked, anticipating the moment someone would stop him, call his name, call for him. Edgar thought back to a few weeks prior when a disagreement sparked so much turmoil in his family. He thought back to that alley and just knew.

[]

_Jimmy was dead, buried in a shallow grave by a passing stranger. A kindness he couldn't afford but willingly accepted. His niche underground was cool and quiet. Darkness was safe._

_The pack was gone, having had their fill of him but the pitter patter of paws above sparked what was left of his bones to shudder. He listened to the sound of sand being kicked away and recited the names of imaginary people._

_Scruff-swish scruff-swish scruff-swish scruff-swish—_

_Madison, Lenny, Henry . . ._

_Scruff-swish scruff-swish scruff-swish—_

_Mayra, Aaron, Edgar . . ._

_Scruff-swish scruff-scruff-scruff—_

_Edgar, Edgar, Edgar . . ._

_A muzzle wet with blood snuffled at what once was his ribcage and a decidedly non-human tongue gave the exposed bone of his skull a careful lick. He ignored it. Dumb fucking animal. He heard it settle somewhere nearby and then everything went completely still._

_Jimmy's rotting carcass jumped in shock when an eternity later a tiny gust of wind blew right through the open crevice of his chest. The grit of sand was painful, his skin swiftly disintegrating._

_He sat up, determined to try and clean himself up, but flopped back down when more wind blew and subsequently more sand got stuck to his blood-sticky remains. All of his internal organs were fucked up, torn out, his eyes picked by scavengers in the immediate aftermath. Dead people shouldn't have to experience decay._

_A few feet away what looked like a seriously fucked up coyote sat staring at him. Jimmy's carcass flopped around a bit more, hoping to scare it off._

'_If you're looking for a meal all I have is marrow and I'm not sure that it's any good. Even a dumb fucking animal like you shouldn't eat anything that's been dead as long as I.'_

_The ugly coyote just watched and waited. In the distance the sky grew pink. Except for the occasional arm flop to irritate the flies the carcass stayed perfectly still, a sad imitation of death._

[]

Jimmy was leaning against a door across the room, a bag on his shoulder. His hand was on the doorknob in a half turn as if he'd just slipped back in.

Edgar told himself this was a good thing. That seeing him would make things easier, would make it harder to twist what had happened. He needed a healthy dose of reality, of what the other young man could be.

It was just a test.

"So that chick is down the other stairs . . ." _he_ started off, tapping one finger against his palm, "and your old lady is in there," he motioned towards the control box's view of the Gym, tapping another finger, "With the little ones." A few long strides over to the window overlooking the ally were taken for a quick look. "Which means, yep, the assholes are in the back." He smirked nastily at the two figures conversing a few feet from the dumpster, amused at his own joke. Edgar stood completely still in the stairwell entryway, torn. "You know what that means?" Jimmy looked up and shook his extended pinky in Edgar's direction.

Confused, Edgar waited a beat, eventually shaking his head. Jimmy's hand unclenched.

"You're blocking the only way out."

[]

With a surge of confidence, usually brought on after successfully breaking into a building rigged to keep him out, Jimmy dropped his hand and stepped up. Edgar's step back seemed reflexive, maintaining their distance. His arms crossed and then unraveled when he caught Jimmy eyeing them.

The quick exchange left Bible-boy unsure of where to put his hands and wasn't that funny as fuck. He floundered, and flailed awkwardly. Jimmy watched, amused and grinning, as the guy had a minor meltdown. While the silent gay-crisis ran its course he glanced outside again at the two older dudes gesturing wildly to each other.

"What are you even doing up here?" He looked over at Edgar, feigning boredom. "We told you that you couldn't be here." The stunned, wide-eyed, half crazy look was actually kind of cute on him, outside of whatever the fuck he was babbling about. Jimmy stepped forward again and Edgar's shoulders slumped, his back hitting the edge of the door.

He was still blocking the only fucking way out.

"It's a free country, I can go wherever the hell I want. Your little troupe doesn't own the building, they had no fucking right—" but he cut himself off with a hiss because there was no use getting mad over a problem he'd already solved. In fact getting mad would probably prompt the do-gooder to tattle on him.

Surprisingly though Edgar grimaced as if aware of just how stupid banning Jimmy from the building had been. Pseudo-confidence broken for the time being he sighed, eyes glancing everywhere but at Jimmy. His hand swished against the sleeve of his ugly blue windbreaker.

He couldn't have planned a better meet, and the guy had just stumbled on him. Could have been a different zealot and any one of them would have thrown a fit but Edgar was _curious._

Man, he didn't believe in that divine plan shit but if he did he'd take it as a go ahead sign from on high. Not that he needed an invitation. _Shit._ It shouldn't be so easy.

"You done freaking out?" Because it wasn't the right time to indulge in anything other than _seeding the pot_, as his bitch of a _best friend_ would put it. Edgar's hand stilled, he stood a little taller despite the obvious dilemma of whether to play the good son or the good Christian. And while neither was ideal, one had considerably more flexibility given the circumstances. "Because as enthralling as this conversation we're not having is I need to get home." He paused with a dramatic incline of his head. "That shit's done for the day, right? Unless there's an after-the-credits special presentation I just _have_ to see." Edgar looked marginally confused again but still shook his head no. "Good." Jimmy carefully walked around Edgar, close enough to feel the air move but far enough not to touch. And Edgar turned to watch him go, still caught between the dilemma of family and righteousness as if either had anything to do with the delinquent.

"But you can't leave that way," Jimmy paused, "the doors to the Main Room are open and my sister's in the hallway. You have no idea how much trouble I'll be in if they see us coming from the same direction." He turned and took in the amusingly intense look on Edgar's face, as if hiding Jimmy's presence was the same as keeping a bag of narcotics under his bed. Jimmy huffed, rolled his eyes and slipped out.

[]

Edgar waited a beat before he heard his sister calling him and in a fit of panic followed. He reached the hallway, ducked through the door just as Mayra came around the corner, swinging the keys on her finger as she waved goodbye to the desk lady down the hall. He awkwardly patted the handle bar of the chair dolly, mouth a tight line, as she absently gestured him back into the main room where his family were waiting by the door for them to leave. He waited for her to go first, glanced around for any sign of Jimmy creeping where he'd be seen.

He kept an eye out, trying to see through the long shadows of the empty building as they left. He was the last one into the van, distracted by darkened windows and the surprisingly endless number of hiding places nearby. As they drove home he watched the road, absolutely sure he'd see him walking down the street or climbing the stairs to his apartment complex's side entrance as they pulled up. By the time they were all inside, safe and sound, Edgar was suitably disturbed.

Normal people don't just disappear.

He helped his mother in the kitchen, unable to tear his eyes away from the small window that overlooked the alley. That night when he went to bed he was so rattled by his thoughts over Jimmy that he forgot to talk to Mayra beforehand. He dropped off before she was even finished showering.

_Hooded and amused eyes watched him as he helped Jimmy hop back to sit on the edge. He kissed a smirking mouth and felt a rush of heat when it opened to him. Giving. As if he understood, as if he'd read Edgar's thoughts and concerns he let his body lie back and go lax, let himself be moved to the center so Edgar could sit beside him, could loom over and fumble uncertainly against him. His fingers were jittery as he scraped them up Jimmy's skin, wrinkling his thread-bare shirt and skimming along the bumps of his ribs._

_Edgar pivoted his hips, propped himself up with elbows and knees. He pulled back enough to start moving down, kissing the sharp corner of Jimmy's jaw and down the column of this throat. Jimmy murmured something indecipherable, words stuttered and low. Edgar's hands splayed and rounded his sides, pulling him up and arching his back, mouth jumping from the exposed skin of his neck down to where the torn up, black shirt was rucked up around his ribcage. Jimmy exhaled a frustrated hiss, reaching down to yank Edgar up by the shoulders of his shirt._

_Their mouths met again, his knee went out from under him and Jimmy's hand slipped into his pants, palm hot against his—_

Edgar almost didn't make it to the bathroom before he threw up. He sat by the toilet horrified and sickened by the betrayal of his own mind and body. He was also worried that someone might have heard him and listened intently to the ear ringing silence of the hallway. An hour crawled by and thankfully no one came out to see what was wrong.

Slowly he pulled himself together, arms shaking as he cleaned himself up. He couldn't bring himself to check the mirror as he washed his face. The hall was formidably dark and in his exhausted but still jumpy state he imagined that if Jimmy were really some sort of fiend sent by the devil it would be child's play to invade their home.

He went to his room long enough to pick up his bible and check on Mayra, still asleep, before heading downstairs to camp out on the couch. He glanced at the clock, 2:17 am, before opening to the book of Job in the hopes that he could avoid sleep for the rest of the night.

[]

"_Edgar" Jimmy moaned, head tilted back, skin flushed—_

"Edgar!" a familiar voice hissed angrily, a death grip on his shoulder shaking him awake. Wide-eyed he took in the sight of his uncle's livid face in the relative darkness of the living room until his stomach churned for the second time that night. He desperately shook off the hold on him before dashing into the downstairs bathroom. This time he nearly smashed his head against the sink trying not to vomit on the floor.

He sat in a daze for several moments staring at the underside of the toilet lid quietly begging God for relief. Nathanial gently patted his shoulder and assured him that everything would be okay soon. They were so close to absolution, he promised him.

Sometime between his uncle helping Edgar clean up in the bathroom and moving him to the living room his father had come down. The two brothers whispered furiously back and forth before they both helped settle him onto the couch. Nathanial stopped his father from turning off the side lamp near Edgar's head, placing the bible that had been thrown across the room in the earlier scramble in Edgar's arms. He was completely drained, unable to fight off the lure of sleep.

He woke up around 11 am, stomach aching. The lamp above him had been turned off and his bible was on the coffee table across from him. The only light in the room filtered in from the kitchen behind him where he could hear his mother speaking quietly to Mayra. His bedspread from upstairs was draped over him, warm and their concern over him like a balm against his ragged nerves.

"It's probably just a stomach bug, mom. If it were food poisoning we'd all be sick."

"Nathanial found him down here. He said he was out of it." He heard her sigh and take a drink of something.

"He should have woken me up. I would have helped him."

"Mayra, you know your brother better than that."

They stopped talking for awhile and Edgar managed to drift off again. The next time he woke up no one was downstairs but he could still hear everyone upstairs talking. Between Jeremiah and Aaron arguing over whose socks belonged to whom he heard his mother and father discussing who would stay with him while everyone else helped with the shopping.

"I could stay with him if you and Nathanial could wrangle the boys into the van without a mutiny. Since you obviously can't I think you or your brother will have to stay."

"Nathanial is visiting your brothers across town today, I would stay if I didn't need to make a stop at Lenny's to give him a copy of tomorrow's read-through. I'm afraid without Edgar there he'll forget again.

"Do you think he'll still be sick tomorrow?"

"I think he needs rest and one more day won't hurt."

"So, Mayra then?"

[]

Jimmy watched from the darkened spectator's box as Edgar devoutly bowed his head with the others and spoke the communal prayer.

"O praise the Lord, all ye nations, all ye people. For his merciful kindness is great towards us: and the truth of the Lord endureth forever." He couldn't stop his eyes from trailing the back of his neck. "Praise ye the Lord."

Edgar didn't go anywhere near the hall where the doors leading up to the second floor of the building were situated. His sister gathered up the chairs and pushed the dolly to the back. He gathered trash and barely spoke a word to his family, his face especially pale. He only stopped long enough on the way out to cautiously glance up to where he knew Jimmy was hiding before carefully closing the doors and locking them himself.

Sitting back in his swivel chair Jimmy considered what his next move would be. He scribbled down a few ideas in his notebook, taking into account Edgar's reluctance to visit upstairs again and what it might mean. He'd run them by David to see what he thought. An outsider's perspective, no matter how stupid said outsider was, couldn't hurt any.

[]

"Dude, this is a really bad idea."

Jimmy scowled at him from the foot of the bed. David shrugged unapologetically, still half tired from being woken up at 5 in the damn morning. Jimmy was used to getting up for a quick product run in town, buying pain medication off of seniors sometimes meant waking up at God-awful-o'clock in the morning and he was unwilling to wait until school to show him what he'd come up with.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? It's a good fucking plan." David groaned and flopped into his pillow.

"No, it's not. If he doesn't want to go upstairs to you he's not gonna go. Leaving him notes is the last thing you wanna do because if he's as off put by this whole thing as you said he looks then you're just gonna push him to rat you out." Jimmy's face twisted in anger. He moved into the empty space beside him.

"Ugghh."

"And knowing your luck his family would find them, think you're fucking their son and lock him in a dungeon. The cops would probably find him in pieces somewhere if they ever found him at all." David scooted over, not at all offended when Jimmy collapsed next to him. "I'm not even sure of what you get out of this sort of thing, man. He's not even that good-looking." He frowned, face scrunched up like he was trying to decide if it would be worth it to get up and turn off the light. "What's in it for you?"

Jimmy muttered something at the pillow he'd face-planted into.

"Does he have a huge dick?" David questioned a few moments later.

"Shut the fuck up." He lashed out, slamming a loose fist into his sleepy friend's arm.

"Ow, don't hit a man in his own digs asswipe, so fucking rude." Everything went quiet and David abandoned the notion of turning off the light, instead turning over and away from his friend. It was near sunrise when he spoke up again.

"If he does, when would you have seen it?"

"David, I swear—"

"When is he ever alone?" He interrupted. Jimmy flipped over and stared up at the dotted ceiling, thought about it a bit but couldn't think of a single moment Edgar wasn't surrounded by preacher-man's flock. Except for that one evening, in the aftermath of the protest but even then . . .

"He's not, far as I can tell. But maybe he doesn't have to be." Jimmy sat up and shoved at David's shoulder. "They have those rally-things sometimes."

"Don't they keep an eye out for each other?"

"Dude, they drove off without him and that kid. I found them in an alley, remember?"

"Oh." David turned to look up at him. "But they might see you too."

"Not if there's a big enough crowd."

"The only time there's enough people for what you're thinking is when they do that shit by the school. And they only had it there that one time."

"Twice, once this summer too."

"Okay, there's your plan, find out when they have those things and hope they have one near the school again. It's better than your note idea."

[]

Edgar glanced around the room, mildly surprised at the number of new faces he saw. The room was packed and everyone looked happy to be there. The welcoming atmosphere eased some of the tension he felt. His family didn't really celebrate Thanksgiving, for them every night was a night to give thanks, but those who did took the opportunity to attend mass in droves and they welcomed every new face in the hopes they would stay.

_Not all of them are welcome._

And just as suddenly the tension returned. He glanced around and saw Mrs. Gwish and her daughter Anne.

_Hypocrite._

A hand clamped down on his shoulder directing him towards his seat at the front. Curiously, _rebelliously,_ he glanced up at the darkened windows of the Gym's Control Box. He couldn't detect any movement, he was sitting so far away.

His mother gently tugged on his hand, silently instructing him to pay attention. He'd tried, desperately, those first few mass's to keep up but several weeks of a sporadic sleep cycle and near constant nausea had destroyed his focus. Instead he concentrated on not dozing off and ducking his head to 'pray' when appropriate.

Everyone leaned forward and closed their eyes to recite a communal verse. Edgar followed suit giving in momentarily to the soreness of his eyes.

_His fingers were jittery as he scraped them up Jimmy's skin, wrinkling his thread-bare shirt and skimming along the bumps of his ribs. He smiled against Jimmy's mouth, pulled back and laughed when a playful tongue darted out, swiping his lower lip._

"_I just don't know what I'm gonna do with you." His smile faded into something fond and reverent. Jimmy looked up at him dark eyes considering him carefully before he smirked and trailed his hands up to loop around Edgar's neck._

"_Seems like we've got a pretty good idea of what we want."_

"Pst!" Edgar jerked awake, shuddering. "You feel asleep again." Mayra discreetly helped prop him up against her side. He gratefully let her take part of his weight and instead focused on keeping calm to avoid being sick everywhere. When he looked around only a few people were glancing at them curiously. He smiled back at them the best he could before turning back to watch his father about to lead the congregation.

"Save me, oh God, by thy name, and judge me by thy strength. Hear my prayer, oh God; give ear to the words of my mouth. For strangers are risen up against me, and oppressors seek after my soul—"

Almost an hour later Edgar finally got the chance to visit the restroom. Mayra was waiting in the hall for him, in the off chance he'd need help. Just before he went in he considered the impossibility that Jimmy might be inside. He shut the door behind himself and flicked on the light. The bathroom was smaller than the one near the manager's office and only had 4 stalls. He listened to the quiet, half expecting to hear the squeak of a boot against the tiles of the floor.

A few moments of ringing silence later he determinedly checked each stall. They were empty. Relief spread through him, he had no idea what would've happened . . . what he would've done . . .

Sluggishly he rinsed his face in the sink. The water was ice-cold but did nothing to help the slow-drag of fatigue he felt. A gentle tap on the door pulled him away from contemplating if it were actually possible to drown yourself in a sink.

"Everyone's heading out. You okay in there?" Edgar snatched a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and patted his face dry.

"I'll be out in a sec." Outside he could hear the chatter rise as people prepared to leave. He stood still a moment, listening intently for movement on the second floor even though he knew he was too far from the Main Room and the stairwell to hear their secret parishioner above.

It had been weeks, was he still even coming?

Even if he'd wanted to help stack chairs and move them to the back he just didn't have the energy, Nathanial guided him and Mayra to the van explaining that a few long-term members were much more eager to help out and had the strength to do so. The drive was silent, Edgar resting his head on his sister's shoulder.

Once they got home the extent of his exhaustion really and truly hit him. He made a flimsy excuse, gathered up a few things and slipped into the back bedroom. He was out cold before he even had the chance to change.

He was so exhausted that for once he didn't dream, his eyes closed that Wednesday night and blearily opened Thursday afternoon. In the fog of his half sleep he could hear Jeremy and Aaron's voices, could feel them bouncing on the foot of the bed, demanding he wake up.

"Mom says you can't sleep in any later. You gotta get up."

"Get up! Get up" Aaron crooned from where he was jumping with painful precision on Edgar's calves.

"Ughhh, no." He groaned. "Go away."

He should've known something was wrong the moment Aaron's weight vanished from his legs and Jeremiah immediately went silent but his brain was so fried, so muggy and weird that he nearly dropped off back into sleep before the blanket _under_ his body was quickly yanked, pulling him halfway down to the floor. All three of his siblings were nearby roaring with laughter as he struggled to get up.

"That is not funny. You are not funny, you are mean and terrible people." He griped as he sat up and leaned back against the side of the bed. Aaron skipped out of the room, voice echoing down the hall as he went. Edgar watched as Jeremy followed at a run, listened as their mother chastised them for playing in the house and felt better than he had in several weeks. Mayra crawled over to sit beside him.

"So," she started, also staring at the door, "do you feel like throwing up again?"

A sharp pang of discomfort settled near his heart and Edgar took a deep breath feeling the pain grow sharp as his chest expanded. When she looked at him he looked back and for a moment considered at least trying to pretend it was about actually being ill.

But he couldn't, he already had enough to answer for. God would know of his lies, would know of the dreams and of the real reason he hadn't told anyone about Jimmy being upstairs.

It was stupid, he was being stupid. He'd done the right thing for terribly selfish reasons. And he could only hope that God would forgive him when the time came to confess that last sin.

"No." He stared off to Mayra's right at the empty set of drawers against the wall and shook his head. "Mayra I haven't been sick."

"You looked pretty sick to me," She gestured to the door, "throwing up everywhere like you were." She grinned weakly at him. "But I'm glad you're better now. Maybe all you needed was some sleep to get it out of your system."

"I think the only reason I slept was because I passed out."

"You always did get what you needed the hard way."

Edgar stared at his sister half wondering if she genuinely thought he'd had the stomach flu or if she knew it was nonsense and just didn't want talk about it. Neither of them said anything for awhile, both ignoring the call from their mother about lunch. He wasn't sure what to say or how he would even say it if he knew.

"I think Dad would like to know you're feeling better. Nathanial went to talk to Mr. Greer about something and I'm sure he won't be back until tonight." She patted his knee once and then pushed herself up to go. "The sooner you get it over with the better."

She helped him up and they shuffled downstairs together.

[]

"_You planning something fun?"_

"I'm planning something. Not sure what yet. That's why I need your help."

"_Help? No. I don't do charity."_

"I'm sure I've got something for you. What'd they say you have?"

"_I have a hard time focusing."_

Jimmy rustled through his box, pulling out three different uppers.

"_You got what I need?"_

"Depends how much you want. I have more of some than others. The good shit goes fast this time of year."

"_I can't get a refill for another 3 weeks. Can you do something about that?"_

"3 weeks? Generic, yeah if you can manage with one a day. But there's no way I'm gonna give you that much free. Your help ain't worth 2-3 hundred dollars."

"_You charge that much for Generic?"_

"When the good shit's gone? Yes."

"_Guess you 'n me are shit outta luck then, Jimmy."_

"Three weeks, three favors."

"_I don't like it when you try to sweet talk me, man. Gives me the creeps."_

"They're pretty big favors, on top of the information I need."

"_300 bucks worth of favors. For you? Maybe I should just wait this dry spell out."_

"This close to your exams?"

"_Fuck man, you're gonna have to tell me what it is before I agree to this. This can't be one of those situations where I have to say yes before knowing what the fuck it is you're gonna have me do."_

"Fine. I'm going to need you to make me some keys for a building."

"_Okay, as long as they're not for a bank or check cashing place then yeah, I can't get caught up in robbery shit again. But I don't see why __**you'd**__ need them. Don't you have bump keys?"_

"No, it's nothing like that. I'll give you the address later tonight, my bump keys won't work for those locks I've tried. Second favor . . ."

A few hours later Jimmy was on his way out the back door of his building when yelling from Edgar's place caught his attention. He paused for a moment, suspicious of just how damn loud the one-sided argument was. But when no screeching for help started up he continued towards town, glad he didn't have to deal with the dilemma of rescuing someone. Even if it would score him brownie points.

He met up with his college acquaintance and dished out a couple of days worth of a generic version of Adderall XR and the address for the keys he wanted, then he set up a time to meet nearby promising him the rest of the week's pills when he brought him the keys.

"The front and back each have 2 completely different locks on them. I want all 4 of those keys or you get nothing else from me." He hissed at the part-time locksmith. The college student muttered a few choice words as he left, downing a pill as he went. "And don't forget to find out about any public demonstrations by those people, I need it by this weekend. Have fun studying." He sing-songed. The dude flipped him off as he disappeared around a corner. Jimmy set off in the opposite direction.

He needed to make a stop in town with what money he had left and pick up a bottle of Percocet while the woman still had it on her. If left another day she'd down them and likely screw them both over financially and herself physically.

Dead suppliers don't get prescriptions, Jimmy found, not without a really good stand in and zero family to identify the body.

[]

"You will write an apology, for disgracing the church and your father. In it you will admit to why you were really sick and beg God for forgiveness." He sat in a strange sort of daze, staring up at his mother. "Tomorrow you will read it to Mr. and Mrs. Greer and if they find it satisfactory you will present it to the congregation next week." Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red and puffy. What had started out as a calm confession had escalated into a hysterical screaming fit once his Mother had walked in.

She hadn't given her son a moment to say anything beyond what he'd initially started as an admittance of guilt.

He watched her stomp out of the room before turning to look at his father, wide-eyed. Had he skipped an earlier argument? Was all that pent up rage and anger really for him? The older man stared at his desk unable to look him in the eye. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, occasionally broken by the clanking of dirty dishes being thrown from one sink to another, his father sighed.

"Gather the rest of your things from Mayra's room. You'll stay in the back bedroom until we figure out what we're going do beyond your public apology." Edgar waited a moment unsure until his father impatiently dismissed him.

"I imagine Nathanial will have a few words for you when he gets home. Please let him say his peace, make it easier on both of you." He turned his head away, unable to watch his son leave.

Edgar didn't see the rest of his family that night, not even Nathanial. They all steered clear. Even Mayra avoided the back end of the hall if she could. It only took him half an hour to finish putting his things away so for the rest of the night he had nothing to focus on outside of the occasional footsteps down the hall.

The tightness in his chest was nearly unbearable as the night went on.

He had no idea what he'd write and tried not to think of the humiliation he'd have to face at next mass. It wouldn't matter that he had no intention of living such a terrible lifestyle, that he'd prayed and received an answer. They wouldn't care that he only needed to endure until all earthly temptations were wiped off the face of the earth. His final moments would be cowering from the scorn of others. He hadn't done anything, had resisted the entire way, it wasn't fair.

A little flair of irritation sparked in his mind and for a moment he reveled in the knowledge that with death came absolution. They would know that he was clean, blameless.

Except that he wasn't, he'd been betrayed by his own mind, had imagined with terrible clarity things that made him unreasonably happy. And sick, very very sick.

He decided to start off with an apology because he had no right to be angry. He deserved his punishment. Maybe the shame would drive it away, the thoughts, the dreams, maybe seeing Edgar degraded would be enough of a laugh for Jimmy to be done with whatever it was he wanted.

"I am sorry—"

No. He stopped and crossed out what he'd written.

"I have been having . . . no, _experiencing_ thoughts of a sinful nature." He paused and considered how the letter was starting off and where he intended to finish it. There were many things he needed to ask forgiveness for. He continued.

"For some time now, at least a month, I have betrayed the trust of my family and my God. An individual caught my attention and although at the time I believed my intentions to be pure I've come to the understanding that my attraction to them . . ._ him_ is of an immoral kind. It is wrong for men to feel such things for other men and I pray every day that it will pass. I also pray that God will forgive me for this sin, unclean thoughts and unclean actions are the same to our holy father and I can only hope he will have mercy on me and guide me down a cleaner path."

"Hold on, Edgar." He looked up from his letter at Mr. and Mrs. Greer. Well, just Mrs. Greer, a soft spoken middle-aged woman with short, curly blonde hair and a gentle smile. "I understand this must be hard for you but do you understand why they're having you do this?" He was in their living room, dropped off by an angry but thankfully silent Nathanial.

"Because," he glanced down again, unsure, "wanting to be with another of the same sex is wrong."

Mrs. Greer looked to her right, where her husband was, and then shuffled sadly through some of the choir papers she was organizing.

"In a way, yes," Mr. Greer spoke up, "you should admit to being a homosexual but the main reason you are having a _public_ confessional is because you've been lying about it for, as you said, a month. You, better than almost anyone else, should know how important confession is." Edgar stared down at his lap, unable to meet the older man's eyes. "We would've had time to help you."

A cold weight dropped into the pit of his stomach.

"As it stands the best we can do right now is ask for everyone to keep you in their prayers. There is still so much to prepare for." Edgar couldn't find it in himself to thank him for their consideration.

"Honestly sweetie, when you read that it doesn't sound like you're taking responsibility." Mrs. Greer interjected. "It sounds like you don't think you've done anything wrong, or that what you're confessing is _not as bad_ as it could be. To **us** there is a difference between thinking about something you know is bad and doing something bad but God isn't going to make that distinction. You have to accept that whether or not you've had sexual relations with this young man or just thought about it won't make a difference."

"I understand."

"Then start again."

"Yes, sir."

By the time he was picked up to go home Edgar felt numb. He sat in the passenger seat as his uncle drove, his face a stony mask. Neither of them said a word the whole drive back.

That night he didn't dream of Jimmy, his mind was plagued with flashes of dark empty alleyways and street lamps bursting in fits of light. He was running then crawling as all of the stars were sucked from the sky above him. The last thing he remembered was slamming into something and feeling the sharp scratch of broken teeth on his tongue.

He woke up with sore gums and a horrible migraine.

[]

It was after his shower on Friday morning that he got a call back from his college buyer. He hadn't slept in almost 32 hours and was seriously considering just skipping school when his phone rang. He grabbed the wall unit, mindful of the fuck long cord a tangled mess on the floor, and scowled as he answered.

"What?" At first no one said anything and Jimmy promised himself that if it was a crank caller he'd eviscerate them. "Who the hell is this?" He heard shuffling in the background and the sloshing of an iced drink in a glass.

"_Hey, yeah. It's me."_

"So, what are you doing calling me at," he turned the corner to peer into his room, "5:30 in the fucking morning?"

"_Why, were you sleeping?"_ The dude yawned and then there was a thump. He waited for him to continue but only heard more rustling papers.

"Asshole, just tell me what the fuck you're calling for."

"_Well," _he broke with another yawn,_ "I thought you should know that I found out that they're planning a last minute demonstration this afternoon. It's not by the school but my cousin said there's still probably gonna be a shit ton of people there."_ Jimmy unwound some of the cord and pulled it around so he could flop onto his couch.

"Where?"

"_Downtown, across from that park near the library."_ He knew that park, he crossed it at least twice a month on his way home. _"That good enough for you or do you need more? Cause I just finished the last pill you gave me like 8 hours ago."_ Jimmy's head dropped back and he swallowed heavily. His head was screaming for sleep but there was just too much to finish before he could go to the rally.

He'd already started revising the buys in his head to finish them up right after school as everyone was heading home so he could catch five or so hours of sleep but if he had to get downtown then he wouldn't have time. And if he walked into school 3 hours late they'd just kick him out.

"_Dude, you there?"_

"No, fucker. I'm so God damn tired I think my head's gonna explode." He tapped the heel of his hand against his temple. "You're talking to the only part of me still awake right now who can give a fuck."

"_Me too man. That damn medicine is the only reason I'm still functioning. When can I meet you to get what I need till next week?"_

"When can I get those keys you're making for me?"

"_I checked out the locks, I've got a couple that'll fit but I have to get the other two from somewhere else. They're old as fuck and heavy, rust everywhere. I can bring you two today if you want them."_

"Bring them to the damn rally. I'll give you half of what you need then."

"_Yeah."_ And he hung up. For a few minutes Jimmy dozed on the couch until his aching head couldn't take the phone's dial tone. He forced himself to stand and hang up the damn thing. Tense and tired he finished dressing and grabbed his bag. He needed the money and the closer it got to winter break the higher the demand. He should have been swimming in orders but so much shit had come up.

"Can't get distracted . . ." He nearly slammed his fingers in the door as he closed it. "Fuck. Gotta get my shit done."

Trudging to school half asleep in the early hours was torture but he couldn't stay home and leave closer to 8 because he _knew_ he'd probably pass out staring at the clock. He ignored his neighbors packing up their van as he passed, too tired to care beyond the fact that he'd see them later. They didn't give him any shit, just watched him leave.

By the time he got to school he felt like he'd been walking for hours. He was aware enough to make it to his locker, if paying off another student to use theirs made it his, and stumble into the cafeteria where breakfast was being served. Several messages were passed between 6 and 8:15, when the warning bell rang, and thankfully by first period he could check off 1 complete order from his roster.

David tried to jokingly check him in the hall but even half asleep he was having none of it.

The Ass grinned maniacally at him and waved as he disappeared in the other direction. He'd been weirdly happy since his and Jimmy's early morning brainstorming and hadn't even flinched at being shoved into several other students when he'd playfully tried to push his _friend_ into the lockers.

Friends: David's description of whatever the fuck it was that they were. And his too, on a good day.

"Why do I _still_ talk to you?" Jimmy muttered to himself wearily as he stumbled into his next class. It was not a good day.

[]

End Chapter 3

For fanart I've drawn for this story and visit me on tumblr, user name _Stomiidae~_


	4. Faces and Masks

Chapter 4

Faces and Masks

_Jimmy felt the harsh heat of the sun bearing down on him, slowly drying out the flesh still tenuously attached to his joints and ribs. He remained still as what felt to him like a hive of bugs slowly crawled up from the ground beneath him and attacked the stiff and sticky clusters of meat, felt them buzz and scuttle in the cavity of his skull._

_The half dead coyote sat a few feet away with its paws folded primly one over the other as it watched._

_By the time the day was at its peak the swarm was finishing up, sinking into the sand like pebbles into water. He twitched, resisting the urge to scratch a phantom itch on a nose long since eaten as he waited for something, __**anything**__ to happen. Didn't he have someplace to be? Wasn't there a heaven or hell for him?_

_The coyote stood with a huff, shaking out a shower of sand. He ambled over and draped himself over Jimmy's ribcage. It wasn't comfortable for Jimmy, he was still hot, the weight of the stupid animal against him made his bones creak ominously and the stupid thing didn't smell very good considering its wounds were festering in the hot, dry air._

_He refused to acknowledge it, even when it whined sadly. He wouldn't feed into its pathetic bid for attention. If the damn thing was so fucking lonely it could go find some of its own kind to be with. _

[]

The rally was packed not because that many people had planned to stay but because the area designated for it was swamped with shoppers. Early Christmas shoppers.

"_I got you something you'll like. I never know what to get you this time of year, Jimmy but when I saw this I knew you'd love it. Look forward to it!"_

Eugh. Annual gift exchange, as if he had the money for it. Fuck it. And fuck Rachel for that matter. She could take whatever Dime Store knick knack she'd bought and shove it.

He settled on a patio table off to the side so he had a clear view of Preacher-man and his flock. Their leader had started without them, his voice mangled in the steady hum of disinterested passers-by. The followers were unpacking crates of books and flyers, each similarly dressed in white and khaki. He saw a sallow faced Edgar pulling books out into his bag taking a handful of flyers in hand, eyes down and body carefully avoiding any human contact. As they fanned out into the crowd Jimmy stood, careful to avoid any high traffic paths as he tracked Edgar towards the electronic store.

He slipped into the narrow walkway between some foofee coffee place and a leather shop to watch.

Jimmy was sure that Edgar had picked a horrible place to start. Not that it seemed to matter that everyone passing him by was more preoccupied by their brand new mobile phones and carrying armloads of expensive crap like computers and home stereo systems.

He'd see it all on the street in a few months, Edgar's stupid message of a God-fearing, scripture reading paradise would be ignored in favor of shiny shit.

But Edgar was trying, noticeably harder to get their attention. He slipped into other people's conversations like Buda the fucking Buddhist ghost, smiling benignly as he passed out papers and ugly little white bibles inviting strangers by the handful to visit during the holidays. He went on that all were welcome, face carved like stone into an expression of understanding as comments were passed back and forth about the hard times some were going through, nodding mechanically in agreement, and waving off promises to attend with a grateful look. He took rejection gracefully, grimaced apologetically at those in a hurry or just honestly uninterested, and took the time to smile beautifully at a family herding their 4 young kids from shop to shop who appreciated the free books and flyers to keep them occupied.

Jimmy took in each movement, every twitch and endearingly awkward shuffle in the square of space he'd chosen to proselytize in. A short distance away an older woman with short curly blonde hair observed him too. She was set apart from the crowd the same way that Edgar was, dressed in a bargain bin uniform and a scraggly bag of bibles on her hip. She watched from a thick congested seating area nearby, sharp eyes glancing at Edgar between hand-out attempts. Her mark, still faking calm nearby, didn't seem to notice.

Jimmy glanced back and forth between the two, not sure if it would be good to go near him with the blonde bitch nearby. And she'd probably know enough to keep an eye out for anyone taking too much of an interest in members of their group if not to keep one out for him exclusively.

Fuck, he needed David.

Glancing around Jimmy decided that between the leather shop and the electronic store the latter was more likely to let him make a quick call. He slipped alongside a group of older men making their way in to shield himself from Edgar's peripheral view. There was no point in scaring him off or alerting the stupid cunt watching him.

Slowly he approached the register where several employees were buzzing around behind the counters dashing between customers and the back room. The looks on their faces were a testament to criminals everywhere that the holiday season was the worst time of year for anyone who had to work retail.

It took five minutes to fight through the crowd and reach a gangly teen still trying to remove the security device off a geekware T-shirt.

"What can I do for you today?" His voice had a distinct edge of hysteria and his fingers were white where they gripped the hanger.

"I forgot my wallet at home." He kept it short, knowing he didn't have much time. "I need to call a friend to bring it. Can I use your phone?"

The teen winced, glancing towards a sturdy woman manning the customer service register a few feet away. When he finally leaned in, after Jimmy had been shoved, pinched and elbowed by a fat lady and her hoard of children behind him, it was to rather viciously point out that it was normally against store policy to let customers use the phone but that in retaliation of the company paying him shit to put up with shit he could use the one in the TV department.

"Kelly's back there, and doesn't give a fuck. I'll let her know you're on your way."

[]

Edgar could only focus on each face as he found them, everything else he let slip by.

Each moment in-between passed in a blur as he slowly circled the tiny area he'd claimed for himself for the duration of the demonstration and tried as best he could to distinguish between those who were receptive enough to actually talk to, those who were interested only in not hurting his feelings and those who disliked the idea of talking to him at all.

He carefully picked his way through a crowd of people, selecting only the willing. A few kind words and a few questions, no judgment. What right did he have to judge them?

A woman smiled uncomfortably as her children asked for their own books and flyers. In her face he saw a desire not to have her children drawn into his beliefs. He understood, a stressful situation with children who were having a hard time keeping still during the holiday rush. It didn't bother him at all that she looked at him with caution, or that she believed he and his family were unsavory people. Sadly for this woman and her family no unfounded judgment could shake the foundation of truth they stood upon. She and her family were doomed.

Like Edgar, himself? Maybe. Hopefully not but things as they stood did not look good for him. He'd lied to the most important people in his life, turned away from everything they'd taught him and fooled himself into believing that his actions were not only honorable but necessary. Edgar glanced over where he could feel Mrs. Greer watching him, a fellow beekeeper tending to her own small area in the shopping center nearby.

He felt sick as the group went on their way. Seeing the kids' excitement over the tiny print in the books didn't help, he wasn't even sure they could read it. They held Truth like pinwheels in their little hands, as useful to their future survival as a Kid's Meal toy. Turning away from them was hard but necessary. He should have listened from the beginning, no one person was above the others who might be helped. Faces faded in and out of focus, the crowd of shoppers going from gentle background noise to swarming beast.

A young couple slipped by and he made sure to nod hello, friendly was rule number one. The girl smiled back and the boy noticed her smile but didn't notice Edgar. He let them pass, obviously enthralled with each other as they were, neither would appreciate an interruption.

An older woman carrying a basket shuffled along a few feet away, unsmiling and guarding her purse. She wouldn't appreciate being stopped by a young man like him. Would feel safer with a woman like his sister or Mrs. Greer, he turned and for the first time acknowledged the woman assigned to him who, yes, intercepted the elderly lady. They were both smiling, a good sign.

"Excuse me," a lively voice and gentle hand turned him, "I'm sorry, you looked like you were a million miles away." A woman, and a mother judging by the teenage girl awkwardly shifting beside her, dressed in a thick and waterproof jacket. Her expression was open and interested, curious, her daughter's less so. "Are you from a church group?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm handing out information on our small congregation. We're trying to reach out to as many people as we can." Curious but not for the words as much as the group as a whole, she seemed the type. "Would you like one?" He held out a book and a flyer, remembering to try and look the part of the welcoming-door-opener. Her daughter rolled her eyes obviously tired of having been dragged from church to church all over town already. His was just another building to spend the better part of an hour sitting and standing and pretending to pray. He felt sorry that the children of such people were unable to truly connect, to sit and feel the presence of God beneath their feet and in the people around them.

The woman took the flyer and thanked him. Explained at length that they just hadn't felt right at their old church and were looking for a new place to settle, Edgar prayed that her inability to commit was an intervening hand leading the two of them to the right place. He listened and told her that they were welcome for as long as they felt comfortable staying.

He waved goodbye as they left and knew that they honestly didn't have long but hoped it would be enough.

Mrs. Greer was still happily conversing with the elderly lady, both women seated on a picnic bench beside each other. He watched for a moment vaguely impressed with Mrs. Greer's genuine happiness. He couldn't understand how any of the others could remain so vigilant and calm. Edgar felt like he was falling apart at the seams. He adjusted the strap of his bag and let the ache of its weight bring him back to the present, let it serve to remind him of his responsibilities. The obligations he had, those were what was important.

As he turned back to the crowd a familiar face caught his attention. A young man ambling a few feet away from Mrs. Greer and the old woman, watching them. Edgar was sure he'd seen him before somewhere.

Concerned he took a step forward.

"—_such a fucking child, immature prick!"_

Something about him struck Edgar as important, red flags up not necessarily for immediate physical danger, but for something still very very important.

"_Shhhhhh, it's okay. He wasn't yelling at you."_

Aaron? Something to do with his little brother? No, but he'd been there. A crowd, a rally but not where he was at the moment?

White.

"_Here—"_

Edgar looked down at his bag, pulled out one of the bibles and gave it a good long look.

"—_God bless."_

Bald head, visibly sweating, late summer heat, cursing, stalking off, hand, pale skin, dark shirt, smirking. He knew him, the near 5 month wall of time between then-and-now fell and two faces, one distinct the other a vague misshapen memory connected.

Jimmy.

"—_I hope your friend is okay—"_

And Jimmy's friend.

Startled, Edgar's head snapped up. He scanned the crowd but couldn't pick out the faces anymore. They all blurred, an echoing rabble of talking and laughter. When he turned back the old woman was standing, leaving and before Mrs. Greer could finish saying goodbye Jimmy's friend swooped in.

Edgar didn't jump when he was inevitably pulled back by freezing cold fingers on his palm and wrist, just kept watching Mrs. Greer as she reached out to help and guide that young person, that liar. He looked so genuinely interested in what she was telling him, in what they told most people that seeing it made his heart ache.

And when the shoppers filled in the space he left behind that ache grew. They escaped. Vanishing into the swarm until he couldn't see them anymore, couldn't see Wednesday or a crowd of God's chosen exposing every mistake he'd ever made, only the blank brick walls of an alley and Jimmy's maniacal grin.

[]

_Edgar's thumb traced his lower lip in amazement, the texture so much more than he was expecting._

_They were sitting on the table, facing each other and the vague translucency of Jimmy's skin had somewhat faded, his body almost real enough to cast distinct shadows on the wall beside them. He had a small scar above his left eyebrow that Edgar had never been close enough to notice. _

_He traced that too, curious, and both saw and felt Jimmy's face shift into a defiant grin under his fingers. It was the only warning he got. Not that he needed one, right? Not in their safe place._

_When he leaned forward to sneak a nip at Edgar's jaw line Edgar wanted to smile but instead he felt an irrational twinge of annoyance. Jimmy's mouth moved against his cheek and the closeness felt good (no). The cotton of his shirt smooth like leather (what?) and his skin was freezing (not right) . . ._

_It was confusing, the crossed wires of sensation uncomfortable. Words were being spoken into his neck that he couldn't hear. They felt important, he should be able to hear Jimmy's voice . . . why couldn't he hear his voice?_

_(leaving soon)_

_Movement over Jimmy's shoulder in the darkness of the doorway that led to the hall pulled him away for just a moment, an intruder in their haven but hands turned his face into a kiss (they'll know) and the switch in his head was flipped off (on) as he breathed the frozen air of Jimmy's lungs._

_(what if they see)_

_It only gave them a moment before extending every tendril of Its evil throughout the room. The door slammed shut, loud like a gunshot. Edgar jumped but Jimmy just smiled as if he couldn't see the sudden darkness that surrounded them, cut through only by the light still shining through the windows above. Danger had invaded his safe haven, was surrounding them and testing the limits of its resistance to the light._

_This time when Jimmy leaned in Edgar pulled him closer, too close._

_(what are you doing here?)_

_He felt him laughing but still couldn't hear him. He scanned the room, searching for something, anything that could help him drive It away._

_(get out!)_

_Jimmy stopped shaking, phantom laughter fading into confusion. Edgar's grip tightened around his arms and chest when It started picking up the chairs. They flew from across the room, slamming into the table and walls. (stop)_

_He couldn't see, Jimmy was pushing at him, for some reason unaware of the threat that circled the room._

_Another metal folding chair hit the wall behind them with a sharp __**BANG**__ and Jimmy's face twisted angrily, mouth moving like he was yelling the same word over and over again._

_COWARD_

"_No, I'm not. I'm just trying to protect you!"_

_COWARD COWARD COWARD (no)_

"_You have no idea what they'll do—"_

_A hurricane of sound; roaring, shrieking hissing sound erupted around them. _

_Disoriented (what—) he hit the ground (no—) arms empty (wait—) and finally he heard Jimmy's voice._

_(not this too)_

_Screaming as he was dragged, nails scrabbling across the floor. Edgar couldn't breathe._

_(don't take this from me too)_

[]

In the light softly filtering in from the Community Center windows high above Edgar saw the ground covered in blood. From his hiding spot he heard in the darkness bones crunching and the sloppy sounds of flesh being ripped from Jimmy's body. When he opened his eyes he saw Mayra's face, red in the late afternoon light.

He couldn't move. His sister was shaking him, calling his name but he was frozen somewhere between here and _there_, his heart racing, arms prickling, fists gripping the sheets and unable to let go. More faces, worried and confused, popped in the door.

_He_ was dead, taken by a hungry fiend like a pagan sacrifice and Edgar close enough to hear everything but not strong enough to stop it. His mother was suddenly there, carefully pushing the hair back from his face coaxing him away from the nightmare, encouraging him to "breathe, breathe, I need you to breathe . . ."

The ache in his jaw was horrible, worse than when he dreamed of losing all his teeth. His chest was tight and each breath won was painful.

Slowly the sun finished setting and the red faded from the room until there was only the hazy yellow light from the hall cutting sharp lines everywhere. His panic seemed to fade all at once, the dream a horrible afterthought. They were talking, to him, about him, around him.

Nathanial's face was grim, his father's sad. He couldn't see Mayra or his mother's expressions, silhouetted as they were but they sounded scared and were trembling hard enough that he could feel it through the bed. Fuzzily he thanked God that his little brothers weren't there to see him like that.

"What's happening to him?" was the last thing he heard before he blacked out.

When he came to again the room was a foggy, slate blue, morning just an hour away and Nathanial was sitting in a kitchen chair situated right beside him. The older man was staring out the window, his hands pressed together as if in prayer.

This time the quiet felt like a comforting blanket, one his uncle ripped away ruthlessly.

"Where did you go yesterday?" Nathanial's eyes remained unfocused, lost. "We couldn't find you. We told you to stay close and you wandered off. Why can't you be like your sister, Edgar? Why won't you just listen?"

Edgar opened his mouth to say something but Nathanial stopped him with a _look_. As if he knew that his nephew would lie to them both if he said anything.

"I know letting it go is hard, believe me. It will be the most difficult thing we ever ask of you." He leaned closer, sympathetic yet firm. "But you have to do it, for your own safety and everyone else's." He stopped suddenly, frustrated. "No one here will understand better than I do how difficult it is, which is why I am telling you it's possible. You can save yourself from this." His hand on Edgar's was cold and wrinkled.

"You will burn, do you understand that? Is it worth burning for?" Tired blue eyes watched him and begged. It struck him then, just how _old_ Nathanial was.

Wednesday's coming was a blessing and a curse.

'I can do this.'

The drive up to the Community Center was short and by the time they arrived Edgar's hands were shaking. He couldn't stop from looking at the second story and imagining Jimmy seated in the control box like a deranged king.

People arrived as they were setting up, families close to his own, and all of them stopped to offer him support. As the regular congregation began to arrive everyone took their places at the front. A general tension settled over the room as it filled, they could tell that it was going to be a special sermon.

'Jimmy must feel it too.' Edgar thought to himself. 'He's probably watching us, stupid and smug from up there.' He glanced up again unable to curb his shame and curiosity.

'What is he thinking about?'

The Reverend knew his son. Taking confessions had taught him that all of God's children were creatures of habit and so when he caught his shamed child staring at the second story window he quietly motioned Mr. Greer and another parishioner over. They came forward and he directed them towards where he believed the destructive teen might be hiding, and the two men left without question. They had complete trust in him and truly believed that he knew what was best, a level of faith his own blood didn't seem to have in him. His disappointment in Edgar was damning.

He moved to stand before the parish, held both of his hands up and felt the hush that settled over the room.

"I want to thank all of you on behalf of myself and my family for coming. Many of you were informed last week that today would be a little different. The rest of you must be pretty confused." He chuckled and a few people in the crowd laughed uncomfortably. Understanding and calm, he stood before them like a guiding light, a symbol of hope, only of use if those who saw were willing to be led.

"God is among us. Every day that I have lived I have felt His presence, in the air I breathe, through the ground beneath my feet. I have walked His land and seen Him in the eyes of my loved ones." His father's frailty, Edgar noted, seemed to vanish when he spoke before the congregation. "And He is in you and your loved ones as well." Papery thin skin stretched over arthritis weakened hands now looked impenetrable, brittle bones hard like stone as he gestured. "We are blessed," he paused, steely eyes sweeping his audience, "to live at all, let alone during a time when the Heavenly Father is so close to us. His Grace surrounds us during these troubled times and while we may not always feel protected I can assure you there is safety in his plan."

The Reverend was a small man, smaller than Edgar and Nathanial but when he spoke his conviction seemed to lift him up and infuse him with light and strength beyond someone his age. Edgar felt every word echo through his bones the way they always did except that the tiny seed of selfishness inside that they never touched felt like it had grown. It sloshed inside of him like a puddle swarming with all manner of dark, evil things. A mean thought slithered from that cesspit inside of Edgar and planted itself in his head.

(They have no right to make me do this)

He pushed it back down and stared resolutely at the confession in his hand. They weren't making him do anything. His mother may have demanded it (she had no right) but short of torture no one could make him open his mouth and speak. Edgar forced the hand gripping his slacks to loosen.

"Through every hardship he can carry you, but only if you let him. Only by utterly surrendering yourself to his mercy can you be free. True freedom from perceived freedom. By giving into base desires we have weakened ourselves, given up true love and devotion through God for momentary satisfaction in the Devil. And he is clever, isn't he?" The Reverend shook his finger at them. "He will lie to you, trick you, take you by the heart and drag you kicking and screaming into the pit where not even heaven's light can reach you. It's all the Fiend has left, that momentary satisfaction _he_ gets when stealing from the Lord's flock, it's all he can offer. Fleeting," he snapped his fingers, "and then an eternity of suffering."

Edgar stole another look at the tinted glass Jimmy was hiding behind and wondered just how amusing Jimmy would find the whole concept of public confession. He wiped his sweating palms on his knees and ached over the injustice of it (not fair, not fair, not fair).

"Today is a day to lay our sins out for His judgment and his judgment alone." The Reverend motioned for Edgar who stood obediently. He felt his sister pat his arm and his mother squeeze his hand as he pulled away. "We are witnesses and participants if we have the strength. My son will lead, any who follow are blessed." His father's hand on his shoulder, he knew, was meant to lend him strength but Edgar could only focus on the weight of it. He heard whispers in the crowd and could see a thin veil of concern over some of their faces. What lay beneath it he had no idea.

"I have disgraced my family by lying to them." More whispers, people leaning into each other to talk. Veils of concern and curiosity now, but he could see some of the truth in their eyes as they stared at him. "6 weeks ago I began having improper thoughts about someone of the same sex, another man," the paper was shaking in his hands, "and instead of talking to my family or even just my mother and father I lied, believing that it was something I could handle alone. I sometimes even wondered if it was something that needed to be handled at all, and instead of trusting in my father and reaching out to him I selfishly indulged in those thoughts. I built up that person, imagined what it would be like to be in a relationship despite barely knowing them and allowed them to lead me astray." It was quiet now, deathly quiet. He looked up briefly and saw looks of disgust and fear, some understanding and even pity. Looking down again he continued.

"I allowed it because I wasn't strong enough to put the Lord first, to put his word first. It was wrong. I was wrong." There were ashes in his mouth, hot and dry. They choked him. "And I am ashamed. I pray that God forgive me for these transgressions. I have sinned against Him, forsaken my faith and my family."

(not sorry)

"I beg that you keep me in your prayers." The low hum of conversation spiked a bit. (can't make me pretend to be sorry)That sick pit of slime in him stabbed at his heart and sent wisps of thought into his mind.

(it's worth it)

Smokey, all encompassing reminders of the taste of hell. He looked up and felt eyes he couldn't see scrutinizing him and laughing.

(i held you in my arms)

"Please," he begged, "pray for me."

(and it felt like home)

Mr. Greer and his wife's cousin suddenly appeared, coming in from the side door and settling into their seats beside their respective families. Edgar hardly noticed them.

His father however made eye contact with the other older man. Mr. Greer nodded towards the side door and shook his head and the Reverend took that to mean that the boy was not watching from upstairs.

[]

"So you're moving back in or what?" Awful, throbbing music poured in from the ceiling speakers as some chick who called herself Candy gyrated on stage. Jimmy spared her a glance, and then another before his mother's hand, glittering with fake jewels and gold nail polish, caught his chin and turned him to face her.

He thanked fucking god that she was at least wearing the robe that covered her thighs.

"Love to, Honey-Bun, really I would but some of the girls and me were thinking of renting a place together." She frowned at the tumbler of Grant's she was drinking. "You can have that whole apartment to yourself now, you don't even have to worry about it fucking up your credit if you leave early. Maybe you can rent out the second bedroom." She tugged at his hair, turning him away from the new girl on stage, Kerry-something. "What about that friend of yours, the one you go to school with?"

"And if he can't? What the fuck am I supposed to do then? I can't afford that place by myself." Rachel finished her scotch, her smile slow and happy as she stared at the empty glass. Anyone else might assume she was drunk but Jimmy could tell it had been the only one in probably a week. A reward for cutting back. Drinking until she was wasted made her horribly depressed.

She was a sad drunk.

"I'm not moving out right away. I'll stay a month or so till you get sorted out. It'll take a while for us to find a place with everything we need anyway." Kerry-whoever was sliding down the pole with her legs spread wide when Rachel grabbed the thumb of his right hand and pushed _hard_. Pain shot through his whole arm like fire to remind him of the thin ice he was treading on. "Quit it."

"I'm a grown-ass man, I can look when I want."

"You're only just on the right side of 18. Take that shit to the club on the other side of town. I work with these women." Jimmy scowled and she let go.

"She should be used to being looked at. It's _her_ fucking job." He tried to motion over the bartender, an 'asexual godsend' whatever the fuck that was, who frowned pityingly at him. "If she's not then I doubt she'll do well here."

Fucking bartender was going to ignore him.

"She's used to it fine. It's you gaping I have a problem with." The look he gave her was incredulous, because _seriously_. Rachel slid her empty tumbler down to Andres and laughed. "Aw, sweetie, I get that you're all grown up now, it's just that I can't help but see you as the annoying little shit who tore through that first club I worked at with toilet paper rolls after teepeeing the inside of the dressing room." Rachel giggled, remembering how happy she'd been when she'd decided to keep him with her instead of leave him behind with his father like she'd originally planned.

"You got fired that night."

"I did, but the girls at that club hated to see you go. Goofy little perv that you were, always stealing bras and hiding them in drawers, ripping up boas or tying them into nooses and dangling them from each mirror. It was a pain hiding you from the boss."

"Ugghh, can we not take a trip down memory lane. Gonna give me damn hives." He groused half-heartedly. The dance was still going so Jimmy rested his chin on his arms and watched Kerry-something crawl towards a man waving a twenty through the mirrored shelves of liquor behind the bar. He heard his mother sigh and ignored her.

"You know I danced with her on that stage last week." A switch flipped and the unwelcome image of Rachel wiggling around with Kerry-whoever planted itself firmly in his mind's eye. He groaned miserably.

"God damn it, Rachel. God fucking damn it."

"Don't call me by my first _name_, Jimmy, _Jesus Christ_."

"You just had to ruin it for me didn't you? God, you're such a selfish bitch."

"And you're my son. Sons don't call their mothers by their first names." She smirked as he buried his face in his arms. "Though selfish bitch is fine as long as you remember that this selfish bitch gave birth to you." The music slowed and Whats-her-face walked off, bills crinkling in her silver thong. Jimmy only lifted his head high enough to drop it with a satisfying _thud_.

"I hate you." His completely true statement of truth was ignored.

"Oh, before you go I need to lecture you on the importance of getting a job."

"Blegh."

"I know you're making ends meet but I'd feel better if you had at least part time work in something more stable."

"Grrrrrr, shut up."

"I'm sure I can talk some of the girls into keeping an eye out for something you might be suited to. I don't think you've thought about what awaits you in your trade once you graduate. You've got it good at that school of yours but it's not like that when you sell exclusively on the streets."

"I'm not talking about this with you."

"Selling candy in school is easy, opening your own sweet shop is hard."

"I'm going now." He stood, grabbing his bag and throwing it over his shoulder. But Rachel grabbed him before he could pass her, shimmering nails digging hard into his arm.

"If you get thrown in jail, I won't be able to afford bailing you out." She gave him a good hard stare and he stared right back. Andres leaned in to let her know she was on in 5 minutes.

Rachel was moving back in for a little while.

"Your boyfriend was an asshole." He told her. Rachel's hand dropped and her mask followed.

"Yeah, he was. Didn't deserve me." She tilted her head coyly at Andres who was amused but for all other intents and purposes unimpressed. "I'mma catch." When she looked back at Jimmy she seemed happy again.

"I'm glad you dumped him." And that made her smile for real.

"Me too, Honey. Me too."

[]

Edgar's father patted his back, trying to comfort him. As if bolstered by the Reverend's compassion in the face of such a chilling tension a low hum of whispers broke out.

The low shriek of a chair's legs scraping the floor cut through the low rabble of noise. A man stood and slowly made his way out of the aisle. The whole room watched in morbid fascination as he approached the front, stopping a few feet from Edgar and his father.

He was younger than the Reverend but they shared the tired look of fatherhood in the lines around their eyes. He wore an old gray suit with frayed sleeves that made it plain he didn't have much money to spare on clothes that fit.

"I'd like to speak, if that's alright." He turned to face the room without waiting for an answer, shoulders slumped guiltily. "I know we promised not to talk about it to anyone outside of the family, my wife and I figured it was better kept private but I think that this is something that might fester if I don't get it out. To be honest I don't trust myself to do better without help." He looked out to a woman as frayed as his sleeves who was flanked by a weary older boy and two girls who carefully looked anywhere but at their father. "I was raised to believe that a man takes care of his family, shows his children right from wrong, provides a sanctuary for his wife and opportunities for them to grow and be better. That's how my parents were so I have no excuses for my terrible temper. Or my drinking . . ." He coughed uncomfortably. His wife wrapped an arm around her son and carefully threaded her fingers through her youngest daughter's thin blonde hair.

"Instead of buying food or clothes for my kids I bought alcohol. When I found out my wife was trying to get a job to pay for the things we need I . . . I-I slapped her across the face." His voice broke and he covered his face, unable to look his family in the eye. "Hard. I am a failure of a husband and father. I need God's help. I can't do this alone."

"And you don't have to." The Reverend stepped away from his son and stood beside the man. "God can carry you through the harshest of storms but you have to be willing to be carried. You have to be wanting of _him_."

"I want to be better." He was crying into his hand, an uncomfortable sight. "They deserve better."

"And God, he deserves the best of you."

"Yes."

"You have to be willing to let go of your earthly desires. Admit to the evil of alcoholism."

"I am an alcoholic."

"Admit to the evil of striking your wife maliciously."

"It was an evil thing to do. I betrayed her trust in me."

"Have you ever struck your children maliciously?"

"No, never. But I have yelled at them and said terrible things, usually when I've been drinking but not always. Sometimes I just get so _angry_. It's like I can't breathe and it just comes out and I can't take it back. I can never take it back." Edgar wanted to reach out to him but didn't, unsure of how such comfort would be interpreted considering his own confession. He watched from a distance as the man accepted his father's arm around his shoulders gratefully, as if he really needed the strength of such an old man to stand.

"What would you like to say to them, here now before God?" The Reverend asked. The man looked up, face twisted with grief, eyes red.

"You're not worthless, you're worth everything to me. Mattie, you're my wife, my light. You said you loved me before we were married and that you'd only said yes because I made you feel safe. I want to be that safety for you again." His wife looked away, eyes tearful, face rigid. "I am so sorry." She rested her chin on her son's head and pulled both of her daughters to her so their crying faces were hidden against her side.

"Confession is a cleansing. It brings you closer to the Heavenly Father and prepares you for the journey to his kingdom." A woman stood and made her way to the front, ignoring the low hum of noise that followed her. She stood about a foot away from the sobbing man to the Reverend's left.

"I find their bravery inspiring . . ." She was composed and calm despite the obvious uncertainty behind her words, "I'm not sure if this is the right thing to tell people about as I'd put it behind me years ago," She paused briefly, "but it's something I've never confessed to, in all my years of attending church." A nervous glance at the Reverend betrayed the true depth of her stress. "I am a recovering sex addict." She looked back at Edgar, eyes unreadable. "Men, Women, it didn't matter. I was 20, pretty, and having a good time. Sometimes I'd wake up somewhere unfamiliar, unable to move or think really. It would scared the hell outta me, seeing all those bodies not knowing who I'd slept with or if they were even still alive. Had my fair share of seeing what overdose looks like too, it's awful every time." She turned back and faced the scandalized faces of the congregation.

"I can't have children. Got an infection. My liver's a mess and my family won't answer my calls, not that I blame them . . . was always in trouble. Always asking for help." Her head dropped down to stare at her sensible shoes. "Missed Mom's funeral. I was the biggest disappointment. I just couldn't stop." When her head came up she was crying too. She covered her mouth with her hand to rein herself in. "It wasn't worth it but I just couldn't stop. Went to a doctor because I was having pains and they kept telling me that I needed help, kept sending me to rehab but I was pulled back in every time."

His father reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. She covered his hand with her own and continued. "Finding God helped me when doctors couldn't. I've been celibate for 12 years in service to Him and it's a struggle. But every day that I am alive is worth it. After years this is what is worth it."

"God knew, he was only waiting for you to acknowledge it."

"I don't know why I kept quiet about it for so long." She covered her mouth again looking ready to drop to her knees right there in front of everyone.

"He was waiting for you to be ready.

More people stood to confess until no one was left sitting. Edgar was surrounded by people who reached out to _him_ and offered their own transgressions, who only wanted him to understand that he was not alone, that they were also imperfect and willing to recognize it.

He saw his mother watching him and approached her cautiously. She didn't look happy but neither was she carrying her anger like a shield between them. When she reached up to pull him into a hug he took the still horrible sting of her disappointment alongside her comfort and the choke of his panic finally faded.

[]

End Chapter 4


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